Diary of a Mad Creative: I create therefore I am. Pt 9


Ok, so I was whiny yesterday.

Try being me. Although I adore the job it ain’t as easy as I make it look.

But I am not now, nor have I ever been alone. I am blessed. I am held, supported, cheered on. And for every hater, and I got a lot, there are three who know all I give haters is the dust from my feet as I stride by on my way to another mountain. Those that hold me are my congregation, and I am, because of them, thus I am their willing servant.

Servants should be joyful. I must remember to remember. I am grateful for the congregation.

Today I remember, when I am down, the wind that drives the boat pauses, and we may not make it to shore. I must remember, sometimes they wait to be told. I must remember to ask, know when to tell and remember to delegate. Ask and if you deserve; it might be given.

My troupe stepped up thus I have troops and today I love actors. Especially those that act so magnificently in real life.

We are at the exit. We will be what we will be; but if you miss it, let me tell you now we are glorious, true warriors.

We know who we are and like Ester say, “in time it will all come to stand in the light.”

I give props to the troupe that can. I am in awe of what it looks like when we are on one accord. We got miles to go before we sleep and the baby might have three eyes and be missing a foot.

But we will get there and we will learn the lessons the baby teaches. We will listen harder if he is misshapen. If he is whole and beautiful we will bask for a moment and then we will set our eyes on a higher mountain.  But his existence, Buddha or Quasimodo, will be a testament to our determination not to fail or be undone by circumstance. Our very effort has made us more than we were. We are aware of our flaws but we are reminded of our strengths. We are cultural warriors, the Mc Giver troupe, we are “community theater at its most committed*.”

The Theater Godz are not grinning anymore, nor or they laughing. I can smell the gin and cigar smoke on the other side of the exit, I hear the banging of their sticks and the chanting that is syncopated to our birthing rhythm. They are holding us, cheering for us, they got the house bet on us.

* http://www.berkeleydaily.org/issue/2010-10-05/article/36400?headline=Around-About-Onstage