There was no love or truth in my plan to audition for an experimental and rather interesting theater company in the communtiy; I confirmed an appointment because that's what I do-I act. But I wasn't honest with myself in my not wanting to commit to another summer here. Not that I have no desire for such an opportunity, but my heart simply ached at the thought of going through with it-I want something greater. I haven't been honest that I long to return to a few dreams and aspiration that were sidetracked by poor health years ago. Those dreams now require that I have no agenda to continue where I currently am.
This afternoon I cancelled a few projects and a couple of auditions and I released the anxiety of committments to the place that I have called home for so long. I feel the pull of mediocrity tugging for my attention and I sense the challenge within myself to shed the skin that I had outgrown long ago and take the risk of the unknown, even if it meant facing my inferiorities and shortcomings. I bask in the hopes of encountering new persons who are wiser and willing to instruct me in my creativity and love. So this evening I enjoyed the company of some old friends and we celebrated the upcoming arrival of one of our friends' first born child at a nearby Irish pub (pregnant lady abstaining from drinking-naturally) and I put all agendas aside.
In the wee hours, as I waited for the fish dinner and Bailey's to settle in my stomach, I let the poet re-emerge and I surrounded myself with piles of scribbled pieces of paper on notepads, journals, complete works of Oscar Wilde, Virginia Woolf, Shakespeare, C.S. Lewis, plays, old scripts, and books on theology. I looked about my room for things to purge and things to box away even at the late hour and my thoughts were eager to rediscover themselves. The room was in an unorganized state and I quite liked it that way.
I walk ahead in life toward the assurance of messiness and uncertainty and that is the only agenda I really have; I shall participate with all five senses and awareness that I can and that is art enough for now. It is time to hit the books, expose my heart, and deconstruct a few things-and pack.