thursday october 12, 2006.
10.57 (according to the vodafone clock, not the computer)
at last it must be serious.
i thought my first entry 16 into this journal was lost. saw that it magically was sent out. so two # 16’s. so no 17. there is no # 17. this is number 18.
this journal can now vote and go to war in america.
the tigers won the pennant in 1968 on september 17. the l.a. earthquake of 1994 hit on january 17.
i gave my premiere tickets to this guy i barely know named adam. i know him not. i’ve just seen him and been introduced through sharing the electrical outlet for our computers. his name is adam and i don’t know if he in fact came to the show. i didn’t want my free tickets to go to waste.
tears are often tears of joy. the angel of solitude and tears. this new day.
the joy must be in the waiting. aliveness in the waiting. this is the profound beauty of beckett’s godot. why it is not a play of despair. rather full of hope. aliveness in the waiting. any work of art is an act of faith.
i was suppose to go to a museum now with this gal named anna. she was to call at 11.00 and the plan was to meet near the central station at noon. she had to rehearse at 2.00 she said.
she called just now to cancel. she said she had to rehearse at noon. no threat to solitude. the cost of looking into a beautiful woman’s eyes is high. especially when she looks back with interest. then disappears. one must pay the price.
the aliveness in the waiting.
“how long, God, how long will you hide your face?
lower your heavens and come down.”
this new day.
the rumour is that fedja (my co-angel) is not coming to america. we all must do what we must do. fedja is a fellow gemini. we’ve begun to trust each other on stage. this is growing. the completion of the switch will not happen. at least that’s the news of the day. all news of the day is like the weather.
who will be cassiel? who will be the dutch angel, cassiel? perhaps an american?
the exhaustion at staring at the blank page. the Grace needed for the aliveness in waiting.
time to read eliot’s 4 quartets.
quick like a bunny.
again this new day. all we have is our response.
these thoughts (handwritten notes in my moleskin from yesterday);
the poetry of cassiel;
a man writing in a book just like this one, holding his pen as i pretend to hold mine said good bye to his absent lover at cafe t’small on the egelantiersgracht. and a pigeon lighted on the empty seat next to him.
a man crossing the bridge marked 124 on the prinsengracht, limping on his left leg stopped at the end of the bridge and looked back. his wife continued walking unaware that he has stopped.
cassiel’s note taking is like hemingway’s instruction to himself to write one true sentence.
this is cassiel.
no comment. no judgment. no speculation. no interpretation. just the facts. (so like dragnet. reminiscent of the failure in my “where she went”) the repetition of “just the facts” but all the crap around the fact.
this cassiel poetry.
i must reflect that poetry in my performance as cassiel. pure observance. pure listening. this truly is my task now in learning to be this angel. the distance. this way of looking. to observe and not join in. to not participate. the whole of my participation; observation. this is cassiel’s duty. his choice. to be poetry. remain word. eternal. to be so present as to not be present. to not be present. to be or not to be? cassiel’s choice; not to be. and the observation always outward. no self-observation. the word “desire” is really important.
to do; re-read the Gita. re-read the 4 quartets.
i have much more work to do with cassiel. tonight i must begin this shift, this further retreat into not being.
this disappearance. this detachment.
audience and fellow actors should see my struggle o so minimally. just a couple brief flashes as in the first light clue revealing damiel; the “no” wail and perhaps one other flash. should cassiel be in sand light during part of “when the child was a child”? what if the performance were interrupted with an “eternal” pause. a true black out. true silence. (like a power outage in a cave) give the public a theatrical experience of nothingness. then we both appear atop the caravan for the roll out.
the current history/news;
chapter 1: the fool opens his eyes and looks toward the light in a dark and smoky bar.
chapter 2: the fool in the black out and the sound of laughter.
chapter 3: the fool waits. again this new day. despair flirting with him. she wants to be his lover.
chapter 4: the fool chooses public solitude. again this new day and says; “sometimes my thoughts are all wrong because i think as if i’m talking to someone else.”
with almost every ounce of my love,
thursday october 12, 2006. 12.58
the disappearance of 17.
the title to this current history/news;
DON’T SPEAK TOO SOON
WEATHER OR NOT
oh the beauty and perfection of eliot’s four quartets;
“the only wisdom we can hope to acquire
is the wisdom of humility; humility is endless.”
this poem is the instruction manual on how to pretend to be an angel in this play.
a challenging comfort toward how i want to live my life. past pretense.
“I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
for hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
but the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought;
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.”
the stillness the dancing.
“Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty desolation.”
rilke’s duino elegies the great grandfather eliot’s 4 quartets the grandfather galway kinnell’s book of nightmares the father. and so many great great greats before and after them.
“And what there is to conquer
By strength and submission, has already been discovered
Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope
To emulate – but there is no competition –
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost
And found and lost again and again; and now, under conditions
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss,
For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.”
“And right action is freedom
From past and future also.
For most of us, this is the aim
Never here to be realized;
Who are only undefeated
Because we have gone on trying;”
a plane with two passengers crashed into a 42 story building 100 feet from the east river at 72nd street in manhattan yesterday. a new york yankee pitcher, who missed his home in california and was grateful to learn how to fly, died along with his teacher.
all my false loves. all the real love.
what i look for in others eyes is recognition. to recognize and be recognized. and this is what i am so bad at. discerning the truth in eyes. showing the truth with my own.
these words here recognize me and i recognize them and it is related to the love i seek;
“With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always —
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.”