Monday, November 28, 2011

It just is.

The scene is jumbled.
A fallen tree and hundreds of critters all around.
Everything dwarfs the few human actors. 
No need for explanation. Everyone knows the play is about life in the forest primeval.
The early buzz talked about a weak villain. who's not even on stage after scene one, and how hard the crew worked at building that set.

The set circles around the stage, encompasses the audience.

A hidden chorus cries out in pain, gods were injured, punishment will be hurled down on the unsuspecting, the neglectful, the uncaring.
Already, the audience is making plans for dinner dates, next week's trip to the slopes. The stage curtain comes down and everyone sighs in relief.
This play was not worth the price. It was not about them.
Later, they'll read the bad reviews, and smile broadly at their good taste.


  1. i just had the lucky direction of finding the site On Being, which i believe links to a public radio show. i just read an article, The Poetry of Creatures. your post reminds me of this. what i wrote today came from it in part. you can find it here:

    what we might learn, who we might be, if we paid attention as we should. and if we could learn that it is not about us, not exactly, that we are not the hub, the center, how we might be granted a keener life.


  2. Nice blog :)

  3. May I never be a member of that audience. Thank you.

  4. I guess the audience should rejoice that the play is not about them. They should also realize that it might be about them, but they don't know it yet.

  5. :\ hopefully the awakening happens before irreversible damage is done.

  6. And so we humans are, fickle to the core.

  7. live long enough and it is about us
    I sense in this one a commentary about others who have the luxury of walking out of the theater

  8. we humans with our scattered attention. hard to believe that life can be so shallow when we fail to realize the play is about life primeval.

  9. I am listening to 'Spiegel am Spiegel' as I contemplate your post and the thought springs to mind that life is made from star dust and that thought seems to synchronize the the music and plays past the performance and into the soul.