Act 1

(Editor's note - this will be published as Room For Rent on the side bar. It is also available at Scribd.) 

September

“The leaves are falling fast,” I said to a ghost.

“They are falling far from the tree,” the ghost said.

“Yes, they are dancing,” I said. “Dance is about process, becoming, the passage of time. Shiva symbolizes the union of space and time and indicates creation. This is why dance is one of the most ancient forms of magic.”

“Magic is universal,” the ghost said. “People wear masks to hide their transformation, seeking to change their dancer into a god or demon. Dance is the incarnation of eternal energy. They are free. Do leaves really fall far from the tree? It’s hard to say. Did you see a diamond light off a leaf this morning? It reflected an elegant universe.”

“Yes, the diamond reflects 10,000 things.”

“What do you see now?”

“I see a circle of movement. A connected unity, a language in space.”

“It’s more than that,” the ghost said. “There are five rhythms in dance. You start with a circle, it’s a circular

movement from the feminine container. She is earth.”

“Really?”

“Yes, then you have a line, from the hips moving out. This is the masculine action with direction. He is fire.”

“Fire purifies,” I said.

“Chaos is next, a combination of circle and lines where the male and female energies interact. This is the place of transformation.”

“I see. And then?”

“After chaos is the lyrical, a leap, a release. This is air. And the last element of dance is stillness. Out of stillness is born the next movement.”

“Ah, I see language in space. The word is beauty. The Greeks said it was order.”

“Speak to me,” the ghost said. “Tell me a secret. Plant a seed in my garden. Something glorious for spring. Eternal material with regeneration potential. Turn old soil. Give me a metaphor for digging.”

“They say grief for the dead was the origin of poetry.”

“What are your choices?” the ghost asked. “Choice is a powerful word.”

“Initially I chose to feel resentment for their lack of responsibility. I had to deal with my resentment. Why did I feel resentment? It was because of deception. My lack of knowing. Clare’s lack of truth. Her mask. I was angry I didn’t see behind her mask sooner. I was blind. I forgave myself and started to see.”

“Were you really angry or were you confused, sensing the sadness? What did you see?”

“I sensed the sadness beneath the surface. How they tried to fill up their emptiness. How their containers were bland and empty.”

“Is this really true, their containers were empty?” said the ghost.

“They were filled with anger and fear. I saw how they never learned. How their destiny brought them together intheir misery. How the two of them were on this endless negative spiral of energy.”

“They forecast their death?”

“I’m afraid they may end up killing themselves. It’s the chance they’ll take when they get desperate further down the road. The choice they will make. This is the way, their nature. How I process it. How I paid attention to their pain and suffering, their loneliness.”

“What do you mean? Please don’t talk nonsense. Let’s not have this conversation in the abstract. We have no time. Turn your hourglass over and talk. Remember we are all death deferred. We are all orphans sooner or later.”

“Ok, here’s the play,” I said, “a story inside a story with a through line. The inside is the outside veiled in mystery. I made a choice inside the puzzle. I am not saving anybody here.”

“Yes, I see your CPR accreditation is up for renewal. I’ve read your relationship resume. You’ve had your share playing many rescuing roles. Ok, then, stop the bleeding and start the breathing. Three compressions near the sternum. You know the procedure. It’s not about justice, it’s about procedure. You’ve always been here, wherever here is, haven’t you?”

“Sure, I’ve always enjoyed passing through incarnations. This is my nature.”

“Tell me a story. If it ain’t on the page it ain’t on the stage. I need some entertainment, some drama with character development, arc, conflict, resolution, direction and movement. A through line,” said the ghost.

Metta.