Sadly beautiful/beautifully sad.

Sadly beautiful and beautifully sad.  That was the story I just read.  A man chronicling the rise and fall, life and death, of a marriage.  It hit me profoundly.  I've been living a hollow life for a while here.  Punctuated by bursts of light, rays of love.  I think of past relationships.  I refuse to believe that they were meant to end in sadness, and that that sadness drowns out the joy.  Like a song I wrote:

"Cry your tears, go on and cry them.
Don't fight your fears, you can't deny them.
Yes there is pain, but you'll be smiling.
And the sun will shine again.

You can't have one without the other
Yes there is joy in sorrow, brother.
It only hurts because you loved her.
And that was something real"

GOD there's actual twinges of pain in my head and right ear.  Ear infection?  Fever?  Annoying.  The human body is a jerk.  Sometimes.  But is beautiful.  Mine seeks to tell me truths, give me input.  I don't always care for his advice.  He freaks out when I'm about to audition or perform or do an open mic.  I say, "you're fine.  There are no bears.  There are no predators."  He freaks out when I consider loving someone who is not easy for me to love.  "It's ok.  There are no bears."  I appreciate its input.  There's wisdom there, sure.  I note it and move on.

I've lost touch with my Actor-Self, but remain content in thinking that he's never far away, and is always taking it all in and learning.  The Craft of acting needs some work in me, but I think I needed a little hard-earned life experience.  That phase feels like it's drawing to a close though, as I crave performance more.

I just feel so struck by that man's writings.  I feel a brotherhood with him.  He's a parallel universe me.  Why have I always felt so connected to the sorrow of love?  I love those moments in musicals, the bittersweet, the happy-sad, but ultimately OK.

Today, I saw Finding Dory and cried.  I'm not surprised.  And, not for the first time, I thought, I want to be a part of that kind of storytelling, that kind of work, that kind of creation.  I always think, "Man, they are operating on some OTHER level.  Their insights into humanity."  It's not the predictable, comfortable of a movie.  It is SO well done.  They just dig in deeper, and tell their story more efficiently.

My Love Story.  My Life Story.  It's happening.  I think of the women I've loved, who have loved me, and it's not a Capital (capitol?) L LOVE that I experience. It need not be.  Love is love is love is love is love.  It's an unending current, not an "I FOUND IT!" event.  It comes, it goes, it never dies.  I wonder at my crossing-wires between Love and Lust.  And that Love seems easier to feel in the throes of passion, much of the time.  That's ok.  I'm alive.  Even if now at this moment I'm a little hazy.

Today I am grateful for:
- Pizza.  Its existence brings me such incredible joy.  I could live without it, but right now, I am so happy for it.
-  Pixar and the ability to cry at missing my family.
- Self-awareness.  Even when I'm not nailing it, it's always just a little there.

Couchsurfing Palace

An Artist's Haven.

I feel closer to the undercurrent energy of my "truer" self thrumming beneath the surface.  This is a reminder.  This is the version of me that I'm seeking to have more constant contact with.  It is my base.

What does it feel like?  It feels like whole foods, energy from the earth.  It is quiet, still.  It is not frenetic, though I put myself in a frenzy to find it.  All day I've been driving while glancing at my phone.  Distracted driving.  Distracted from the boredom of a long highway.  Not wishing to engage with the present.  Eating sugar, driving fast, finding entertaining things to listen to.

This house is well put-together, it's got straight lines, and feels warm and inviting.  I'm in Omaha, Nebraska staying in the guest bedroom of a man who hosts couch surfing folks.  He's given me a greater gift than he knows.  He's given me peace.  From this place I can create.

I need to make for myself a haven.  A clean place.  In a clean town.  Clean foods.  Clean friends.  Clean thoughts.  Pure.  Simple.  I remember now those revelations.  I want to live a full life, not a cobbled together actor's experience.  Not borrowing space.  Living.  Not borrowing a job for a while.  Living.  Not borrowing a character for a while, living that character.  Expanding that character.  Breathing into that character.  My mind butts up against the forms of theater that have come, that leave me discouraged.  A show.  A one-man show.  A musical.  In a black box theater.  In a proscenium.  With seats.  What ELSE is there?

Improv in Chicago was exciting.  The space was amazing, spacious, and the show was inspiring.  It was an all-woman improv.

I just keep thinking... I don't want a cobbled together actor's life.  I want a real life.  I want to be an actor... but somehow more.  I want to create for a living.  I want to wield the magic wand.  I want to conduct the magic orchestra.  And I want the players to be supported.  I want them to be at home with me in their creations.  Not jittery because they could be fired at any time.  Not looking over their shoulders at each other, thinking competitive thoughts.  I want them... I want ME to feel a luxurious, supported atmosphere.  A space that is well cared for.  That is loved.  That is more than just a typical theater.  A facility that includes a vocal recording studio.  A YMCA for actors.  An OMEGA for actors.

Jake created this.  He did this.  He did it.  He gave himself the gift of a community of unity.  A family. 

Thanks to God.  For this space.  For this kindness given to me by my host.  For this exchange of company for a bed.  Goodnight.