american angel notes from the old new world (cambridge) – 34

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saturday december 2, 2006 9:30AM

this play is all about the value of the story. the necessity of the story.

it is good i am telling this one in these journals. thank you didi. thank you gideon.

as cornel west and tavis smiley spoke in the ames courtroom of the austin hall of the harvard law school yesterday, they re-enforced this. as they spoke of martin luther king jr., and marcus garvey and john coltrane and rosa parks (yesterday the anniversary of her bus ride). as they quoted these men and women. they’re just taking up the story. keeping the story alive.

Christ said;

“do this in memory of me”

it’s all about remembering.

i love my saturday mornings in cambridge. the monastery at 7:45AM. the all white episcopal community there. the contrast of the mostly black audience yesterday to hear cornel west. but each what they are and so beautiful. the folk who give the communion are fake. but the communion is real. the folk are not fake. they are exactly who they are. perhaps, inauthentic, is more accurate. perhaps not.

“the world is clear, i alone am cloudy.”

then the walk along the charles. full of hope. the ipod on God mode. playing jackson browne’s FOR EVERYMAN.

the cold arrives today in the brightness of the sun. i thought of something to do with love as i walked the charles river. i’ve now forgotten. i’m in an incredible place.

turned up ash street from mt. auburn to explore. came to #16. saw the blue oval with white lettering announcing, singing to me, that t.s eliot lived here in 1913 when he taught at harvard. t.s. eliot. thank you God.

“men arrived as men
departed as gods,
gods we knew were here
gods that now let us go on
when all else says stop.”

fucking t.s. eliot. right there. reminding me of something.

“the still point of the turning world”

thank you God.

my back shouts for my attention. shut the fuck up back! i love you back, but just now shut the fuck up.

on becoming human; the day is long.

on having a body; it’s parts break down.

i love cambridge.

renate comes in a week. from amsterdam. it will be good to see this person who has captured some part of my heart. it will be good to see who we are. good to see who she is. good and challenging to remain who i am.

hadewych said yesterday was the first day she felt genuinely home sick. loesje and andy leaving.

mam gave me some thick green dust to put in my bath. for the faltering parts. i put it in my bath last night and soaked. then ice, then heat. feels good to let the breath go down to that place where it hurts.

i don’t think i should tear the money any longer. in the scene stephen gives me money. i was tearing it to show the absurdity of money. i was tearing it as an innocent sensual pleasure of a new human. more appropriate i think to appreciate intensely it’s physical beauty. the smell, the touch of the object. money is something real in our fake world.

cornel west spoke of the danger of becoming “well-adjusted” to a diseased system. he and tavis spoke of the absence of the word Love in our public discourse. cornel west is a beautiful force. so grateful to be in the same room with him. my fellow cast mate from the matrix. still, it seems, one must guard against the cult of personality.

“lead us not into temptation.”

sunday december 3, 2006 12:38PM

today the first sunday of advent. we wait now, in this sacred space, for the promise of the light. we begin again. and thank God. for his coming. for his leaving. for his presence. the whole mother fucking thing. thank you.

2 more shows today. this challenge. gotta’ go warm up now this beached rotting tanker. set it loose on the high seas 2 more times on this Holy day.

fear, cynicism, the absence of love in the public discourse, the dutch, the americans, innocence, naivete, evolution, the healing of the broken heart, mistrust of the sentimental, authenticity, love, faith, humility, greed, the promise; discuss. .

12/03/06 6:10PM

the bank is really tightening up. i mean the back. the back, my back is really tightening up. gotta do something about that. the bank. . well i’m being considered for some lifetime series and there’s a boogeyman movie, i think boogeyman 12 or something like that that is in the works. so much bank potential. but what about the back. . just saw ola and chris outside the theatre. introduced them to meena and rosha. hugged ola like i meant it. i do mean it. ola leaves tomorrow and this makes me sad. i’m so grateful to ola. i could fill 40 of these journal entries speaking of my gratitude to ola. her courage, her vision and her love. so big. i think it shows up on stage. our final show of our first week an hour away. time to prepare. loosen the back enough to stand tall.

i am happy that renate is coming to visit. my new good friend. i love doing this play. i love the people i meet after. my cup overfloweth, Lord, thank you.

mam smith is an amazing actress. so present. so full. our play would be diminish puddlestock if she were not involved. i remember when ola first told me about her. that she was the only possible choice. thank you, mam, for saying yes.

time to go to the theatre.

“precious Lord, take my hand.”

saw mam’s mom kathy on the street. she loved the show. she looked me straight in the eye and said, “you better not drop my daughter”. the mother line is strong. a good line. really time to go to the theatre. i’m coming, chris, i’m coming.

monday december 4, 2006 2:00PM

been squeezing air from my flat toothpaste for about 5 days. finally, today both toothpaste. so difficult to get myself to do these little things.

said tot zo to ola and noraly. no need to say it. not farewell. but fare forward. spoke on the phone for a very very long time to renate last night. i heard her voice clearly. all the seasons. i so look forward to seeing her.

today was the first snow. the center of harvard yard. the bell tower ringing. ola, noraly and hadewych keeping warm in the sun. so many young people rushing by on their way to learning something. the thought of jfk being at one time one of these young.

my back is like a tight ass constipated puritan. it grips me, stiffens me to distraction.

it’s our first day off in 312 years. i’m wasting my time with not enough time to waste. don’t want to take the time to go to a doctor. want the doctor to bring his overpaid ass to me.
12/04/06 11:00PM

this beautiful new tom waits. such tenderness. a miracle.

mam and hadewych and gabriel helped me like some indianapolis 500 pit crew. they took care of everything. such dear people. dear friends. we had dinner tonight with meena. my beautiful sister from sri lanka. from los angeles. she comes to the show tomorrow night. the meal sucked. some horrible place with place mats with all kinds of writing on it. useless writing. making it impossible to eat in peace. the food all had a sandy quality. i know sand. i taste it nightly.

our lives are fragile and soft. our breath sustains us. i snore.

my progress in this play is toward ease. further ease. really got to continue risking doing nothing. simplify. simplify. simplify. chip away at all the nonsense. must stay vigilant. the body injuries demand an ease and relaxation. the injuries a fucking gift. let’s face it. it turned cold as a cracking bitch under a frozen tree in some field of glistening rock hard mud.

today, below a full moon winter arrived. not so pleasant to walk. warmer clothes needed. and the world keeps turning. happiness, a practice.

“let us descend, chris, from our crow’s nest of the unborn,
looking is not looking downward, but at eye level. . .”

some beautiful students stopped me outside the loeb. they spoke so soulfully, so intelligently of the play. i wanted to cry in appreciation. thank you God for showing me what’s valuable. what matters and what doesn’t. amidst the shouts of the cynical powerful.

love and peace,


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One Response to american angel notes from the old new world (cambridge) – 34

  1. jmk7486 says:

    Finally, I have unlocked the secret which allows me to type in this little box. With only a day to spare.

    I was fortunate to witness the begnning of this creation – October 9th in Amsterdam – and last night witnessed one of the last. So different, the experiences, and yet so familiar – I was happy to see it again, like a friend. We met briefly in the lobby of the theater in Amsterdam after the show – I was with the ART group that came over, but of the non-Harvard, non-monied sort. An avid, interested “hanger-on” I think I called myself. Such different experiences – one mostly in Dutch – it was quieter and I was a watcher – grasping meaning out of the visions on the stage maybe alittle bit of a child myself, to grasp a metaphor. Not understanding the words, but getting meaning and education from what the people around me were doing. If so, then last night I was a GenX-er – I had my own understanding, and it was louder and a little messier and more American. But I was no longer at arms length.

    Anyway. I wanted to let you know how wonderful it’s been to read these notes you write and I thank you for your generosity. I will be sad when it ends. You have given me a look inside you, a look inside what it takes to be a part of something like this, what it takes to give over of yourself to the vision of the play, the playwright, the director. It’s been very intimate reading. Stunning.

    As was the end of last night’s show – where you fly with Marion. So much more intimate, so beautiful. We were surprised and stunned. So, on your last Damiel day, thank you. I hope to see you in Cambridge another time. And if you continue this blog elsewhere, I’d love to continue reading.


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