My heart hurts tonight.  Everything will be ok, but I needed to replace one of my actors for "Control Freaks"  today.  The exceptionally good news was I recruited an actor who started acting in “Five Women Wearing the Same Dress” so once again, it’s a returning actor…. Someone who has worked with me before, so I know he can pull it off.

Jeremiah Lowry, one of those “Have a clutch situation? I’ll help ya out.” kind of actors. I know that position well. After all, I picked up a role once between weekends. The show opened and an actor dropped out. I was tapped and the next weekend with ONE rehearsal, I went on.

The good thing is, the actor who dropped out came to my house yesterday to talk to me about it. He didn’t pull a “I just won’t show up” thing, he came to talk to me about it. Part of him looked like he wanted to be talked into staying – my predicament is this: I only want people who can’t WAIT to be on stage… not any that are hanging there by a thread… because they “have to” be there by some duty.

I want my actors to be there because they are passionate about what they are doing.   Anything else, I don’t want them there.  If they are at all hesitant about going for it on stage, they won't do well. With this script in particular, the actors need to be ready, willing and able to swing deep and wide.

So – part of the adventure of putting a show together is sometimes this happens.

And everything is going to be ok, even if my heart hurts.

The  “Control Freaks” cast were on my gratitude list today.  I can’t help but include them, they are each and every one so incredible.

I felt bad because R.J.’s car got broken into during rehearsal. How did that happen? We didn’t hear anything, they didn’t appear to have taken anything…. Except a video game which is a strange repetition of an earlier crime. Or so I thought, anyway.

We have a few days off and the cast is focusing on getting “off book” which means they are learning their lines. The next time we rehearse, Jen will be back… thank goodness. The blocking is done, we ran the show last night for the first time… (meaning we did the entire show from start to finish)….

Now it is time to polish and go really wide (and wild!) with the craziness that makes this show extraordinary…. Swinging wild is a chief component of this show and part of the reason I wanted to do it in the first place.

I also made myself laugh because I took an entire page of notes last night. I didn’t realize there was so much to put into note form….  for both “Project: Murder” and this show, I choose to email my notes after rehearsal because I don’t like holding the actors any later than is necessary.  Sure, I could ramble on for a good half hour after we are done, but we all need to sleep sometime… and Larry is in a classroom, R.J. is in a bank, I am doing my thing here with my business, Jen is selling houses, Katie is creating the rest of her life… we all need our rest even as we rehearse ridiculously late hours. J

It is ALL good!

= + = + = + = +

“Control Freaks” by Beth Henley opens on November 10 at 11 PM at the Empty Space which is located at 706 Oak Street, behind Pizzaville.  There is no admission fee for the performances, although donations are appreciated. It is also playing November 11, 17 and 18 at 11 PM. Call 327-PLAY to reserve your seat now.

I was the last to arrive at rehearsal, which is a pleasant experience in more ways than I can express. I don’t think this has ever happened before.  Oh, Jenn wasn’t there, but she is on a cruise and we didn’t expect her.

I was still fuzzy when I walked through the door, my heart still pulsing in its warm cocoon of pear brandy.  I explained as I walked, “I just had the most amazing couple of hours, I am sort of out of it, I had this pear brandy…that was.. ummmm” and then I stopped in my tracks.

“What happened, Julie?” asked Larry. “What happened with the Eau-de-Vie?”

I turned to respond. I stopped and tried to speak but nothing came out of my mouth. Time stood still as I slowly recollected the last couple of hours.

I had never had an experience like it, ever before.  Softly allowing a small amount of brandy to spread through my mouth, I gently swallowed. The warmth spread down my

throat and widened once it reached my chest.

It felt as if it flowed directly into my heart.

My heart responded blissfully. A lone tear escaped from my lower eye-lid.

I whispered, “I didn’t know it could be this lovely.”

I blinked and returned to the corner of the Empty Space stage.  “Well? I took a sip, and it slowly filled my mouth, and then went down my throat… and.. then.. well? It went straight to my heart.”

I looked towards my feet. It felt like such a strange thing to admit. I mean, even small children know when you drink something it goes to your stomach, not your heart.

I peeked over my eyelids and saw my cast, each face, looking back at me. Each one of them understood.

I smiled.  My heart warmed again.

The sun is rising so clear today

A textbook beautiful

Technically adept sunrise

I wanted it to be a sloppy

A clanging “You must be joking!”

Cluttered sunrise today.

But sometimes we don’t get what

We think we want –

We think we want clanging chaos,

“More cacophony!” We shout, banging

Our chests like a confused Tarzan choir –

And what we receive instead is a

Quiet, hissing whisper, air releasing

Air filling… slowly… intentionally…

Ever-so-sure-and-deliberate

So we pause, shock denial anger back to

“a-ha” shock and step into the question

The curvy loop,

Itself a fascination…..

We, no… I…. miss so much through
stubborn insistence

When the treasure waits, peacefully, gracefully

So I said “Good morning” aloud, across the miles

And pointed my heart towards you…….

I receive an internal snuggle in return

And I smiled

Inside

Out

“Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as

nothing can cure the senses but the soul.”

Oscar Wilde

I leaned back into the darkness, my face shining like the yellowing crown on a fried egg, I looked up at the night sky in rapt attention. It looked like I could reach out and feel the texture of the sky with my hand or perhaps, instead, trace it with my tongue and see if the stars had a flavor all their own, unknown to the casual-night-sky-passer-by.

The fire crackled beside me. I could smell sausage cooking on the end of a stick, juices oozing off its crinkling skin.  The chocolate cookie I had eaten was still leaving its echo in my mouth. The left side of my body felt exceptionally warm and the right side of my body was tickled by a cool breeze which teased me relentlessly.

Soul conversation whispered directly into the ear.

Songs sung, lyrics remembered, long ago poetry revisited.

Deep breath, gentle and insistent embrace.

Each sense was magnified by the intention and the connection. My soul and I glided effortlessly into the spell of wonder and gratitude.

My hand lifted up and out to connect with skin of another.  Silently, I smiled.

I felt like I had misplaced my heart.

A whole bag of goodies, notebooks.. and my cell phone,

seemed to have evaporated.

I scolded myself, “This is what happens when you stay

out too late and get too little sleep. What were you thinking?”

The other side of ego leaped up, “Thinking? Ha. Not thinking at all… so what else is new?” 

If I spent more time paying any heed to that ego side they surely would have started spewing expletives in short order.

I released them and went about my business, most close to hand a class I was teaching, a 9 in the morning class. It was my soul identity class – a sacred time when I work with an incredible group of people regarding to soulful matters of the heart.

My ego-thought ramblings clearly had no space there.

I mentioned to one of my students that my cell phone was missing.

She gasped, “Oh, no! Have you been going crazy with the looking?”

I inhaled.  “No, I somehow understood that I needed to let go of the looking and instead, immerse myself in the moment,”  which is where I decided to spend my day, immersed in the moment.

Class ended.  I came back to my desk, wearing my usual work attire of a nightgown with my hair piled on the top of my head. No make-up, not even lipstick.  I listened to Alasdair Frazer and Began writing. Writing. Writing. I created an MP3 entitled “Where does your soul want you to go?” and it was in the moment of saving that

recording that I thought I heard a knock on the door.

I placed my palm against the door, not wanting to open it to anyone I didn’t know. “Yes, what is it?” or something like that.

Imagine my surprise to hear it was my Muse, bringing me… yet again… my cell phone, which seems to have a habit of disappearing when I am with him.  I let go of the looking. The Divine had handled it already.

I stayed immersed in the moment.  I held my phone, I hugged my muse in gratitude – and blushed at being caught in the middle of the morning wearing my nightgown, no make-up with my hair piled on top 
of my head.

I had just read these words from Rumi:

“Oh heart, sit with someone who knows the heart;

Go sit under the tree which has the fresh blossoms.”

Not the place that goes crazy with looking or worries incessantly or responds with attachment to the “stuff” of life which detracts from the truth of life.

My muse delivers because we choose to tune into the knowing of the heart. We sit under the tree with the fresh blossoms. And we sometimes stay awake late into the earliest part of the day… and trust that whatever comes is just right. Even if that is losing and sometimes

finding and appearances in unexpected places and forms.

Today – sit with someone who knows the heart. Your heart. Her heart. His heart. The collective heart.

Sit under the tree – sit in the place, the space, the arena… which has the fresh blossoms. 

Today I chose to wear a significant dress.

I call it “The” dress. It is the dress I wore to my first ever audition as an adult. It is the dress I wore the day I first held auditions for a show I was directing, the play I wrote called “The Talents.”

I also wore it at the BCT Awards show (I won the Klawitter Award, one I would rather have not received. Not that I wasn’t honored, but I wish the award was never created. I wish I had Kevan here rather than a trophy.) I wore it for my picture for the Board, there I am in all my blonder, shorter haired glory in the BCT box office… wearing “the dress.”

It is a bright pink with big, bold tangerine colored flowers that look like a painting splashed atop the fabric.  It is a shift, I think that’s what you call it. It follows the curves of my body but does so in a gentle, mindful way – like the hands of an experienced, patient lover who wants to extend the ecstacy as long as possible.

I remember when I first wore “the dress” I was in Chicago at a life coaching convention. Sam was three months old. We walked along Lake Michigan with me pushing his stroller. We would head the other direction into the hubbub and I said to Sam, “We are in a real city, Sam!” I was so excited.

Today I have another round of auditions for “The Velveteen Rabbit.”  I am looking forward to it. Yesterday I watched parents watch their children audition. I remember that “stage mom” thing. I was the most beaming parent you could ever imagine. Now I pray my children will do their best and not get their hearts broken. I remember watching “Anne of Green Gables” auditions, hoping Katherine would get cast because she wanted it so badly and worried she would get by-passed.

I also loved seeing kids show up who I have worked with before, sweet little hearts whose beings have been entrusted to me before and they must have enjoyed it because they come back, for more.

This is a magical show, after all, like this dress is a magical dress. A significant, magical dress.

I am in a pensive mood this morning. Auditions for “Velveteen Rabbit” are tomorrow. I am excited on several levels. I have never directed a “Children’s Show
per se, although I directed a lot of children in last year’s “Miracle on 34^th Street.”  This afternoon I will focus on my intention for the show… and pick out some audition pieces.

I found our set designer/builder yesterday. That felt good, mostly because it could be a tricky set.

“Control Freaks” rehearsal went REALLY well last night. Katie got to practice being… a bit out of control.  The thing is, it is only going to get better and I was laughing a lot as it is. 

This morning I am working with the Sheriff's Department for a training class. I, for who knows what insane reason, volunteered to play a victim of a violent crime. I think it is the secret "I want to be on Law and Order some day" part of me coming out. 

I do want to be on Law and Order. But I am questioning my sanity of taking this on today.  I woke up grouchy... and maybe exponential grouchiness is what I need for this role. I am considering it like an acting exercise.

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can....

I wasn’t expecting to teach a full session of my writing workshop today, I was thinking we would meet briefly on the telephone conference line  and I would move along to the other “stuff”

on my sometimes relentless “to-do” list.

I shared a couple quotes from Noah Lukeman:

"It is always through the unexpected, the unorthodox that artist's break through to higher levels of

performance."

And then this one, which is ironically in Lukeman’s book entitled "The First Five Pages" which is about the structure or form of the first five pages of a book so that the book will be picked up by a publisher.... gotta love it!

"Most of the truly great artists have broken all the rules, and this is precisely what has made them great. What would have become of  Beethoven's music if he'd chased rules instead of inspiration? Of van Gogh's painting?"

I got this wacky image of Vincent van Gogh’s mother whining at him, “Vincent, Vincent… you are using too much paint!”  and then I opened up a discussion. 

Artists and writers in passionate discussion is always a soul-opening experience, especially when you get into the merits of rules, breaking rules and inspiration.

I watched the flow and decided, “Hey, let’s write this,” and was, as usual, inspired by the words which came immediately off both my pencil and the pencils of everyone in the teleclassroom.

The prompt given was “When rules and inspiration meet, I…”

When rules and inspiration meet, I find freedom.

I take root.

I dance with angels while my feet feel mud underneath them - I wiggle my toes to feel the darkened ooziness well up from deep in the Earth.  My nose inhales the freshly mown grass alongside the mud and I smile with intense satisfaction.

Where rules and inspiration meet, I understand in

new and profound ways. The “shoulds” evaporate and

leave a kissable dew-mist on my cheeks.

My skin, moist, soft creative lines of love and thought leave traces of all that has been and all that is yet to become because of and through me.

Lines of brooks, streams, rivers, rivers, rivers,

following the flow, the norms, their centuries old

structure, yet comfortably subside for a while so

that I can nestle into their softness…. inspiration… from rules’ residue…..

= + = + =

What do you notice when rules and inspiration meet?

What do you feel, hear, see, smell, touch, taste, know?

Come along with us… write in response to…

When rules and inspiration meet, I……

I sat on my porch early last Friday morning, writing my morning pages amidst a delectable showcase of weather on a finally-turning-to-Autumn morning in Bakersfield.  We get used to “hot” or “fog” rather than anything extraordinary, so it was exceptionally precious to be witness to such an animated display of natural forces.

I kept my face slightly upturned, not down towards the page, so that I could note anything intriguing that happened within my view. From my left eye, I noticed the almost golden laser light of the sun reflecting off bright white cumulus clouds. 

It was a cloud fissure – a breaking apart so that the brilliant blue of the sky beyond the clouds shone through. I sat and watched. I stilled my pencil and simply breathed and watched, watched and breathed.

The clouds were textured pillows, like an exceptionally lush carpet for my mind and heart.  I looked into the blue and called out to God in gratitude and thanksgiving.

I wrote a Fibonacci:

Clouds
Burst
Open
I inhale
Silently witness
Sun reflects light in cloud fissure
Divinity pipeline is souly solely for me

The wind blew the fissure closed and whipped up very cold breath. In a snap water-hail was pelting the ground.

I wrote a haiku:

Hail bursts mother cloud
Icelette hops onto my leg
The rose buds remain

In a snap, the storm passed the porch.  Gentle rain took its place.

I wrote another haiku.

Bare feet on porch floor
Rain patters the concrete walk
Morning witness writes

I am blessed.  Another perfect day has begun.

The strength of your soul
Seems to have broken my
Television, its screen is
history, which is fine with me

It makes me laugh to feel
Your soul's strength
Permeating my life
Even when you aren't here
Physically

I just fed your-my flowers
With some fresh water
Laced with Sierra Mist
And moved them to
My Hall Table

A Candle-Fire blazes
Between the vase and
An Angel statue, she watches
her face lit up

And I notice two flowers
Which refuse to be moved apart
Instead, they seem to be
moving closer

It makes me smile
To feel your soul's strength
As my heart heats up
Once again

My purple walls
In my front hall
Mirror the energy
of your-my flowers
And I feel peace

The strength of your soul
Invites the boldness of mine
To settle into this time

A brief presence, some pressure

Your lips against mine

Sealing the intention

Beyond a simple goodbye

I stood, unmoving

Not wanting to go

My fingers tips lifted

(Slow motion helium)

To trace my mouth

In a weak attempt

To hold onto the remnants

Of you

Left there

Normally I would not post something as personal and intimate as this, but in the vein of increasing my boldness…. And because Twinkie was curious to see what poetry my week end birthed… here is the first one, dear Twinkie.

I Feel You

I feel you

Reaching into my heart

From wherever you are,

Doing whatever you are doing

I feel you,

Your presence reaching in

Scooping out a piece,

A sliver, a taste of me

I offer myself with wonder, awe,

Joy, terror, giddy tranquility

Soul given without attachment

Birthing transcendence

I feel you

I stood in my kitchen yesterday, looking at my work of art. My children had left the house so I was left alone with our collaborative adventure in art - in paint, in canvas, in clay, in wood, in dirt, in.... life itself.

I didn't relish putting it in my car and driving it to Capistrano's, I wanted to keep it at home.  

The tears filled my eyes as I looked at it again, seeing the love we share taking form in art. Infinite Love, that is what we share.

Infinite Love, that is what we created.

I hope you will come see us..........

I came home from a lunch out with a friend and a
shopping expedition and was surprised to find a
visitor on my front lawn.  My breath made an
nvoluntary, surprise gasping sound.

This friend was here a couple weeks ago, too – and the presence was as strong and as intoxicating as the first time.

Who was my friend?

A road-runner. Like the cartoon character, only
in flesh, blood and feathers.  The other day I stood in my yard and watched him, getting close enough to hear his unique voice.  I have missed him since he left the neighborhood about a week ago.

Today the furthest thing from my mind was my former surprise guest.  I think this time I was even more surprised. He came back to me for a second visit. I never knew I could feel such joy at the sighting of a bird in my yard.

I smiled and slowly eased the car into the driveway.  I got out and collected my bags and he simply sat on the lawn, like he was waiting for me.

It reminded me of the words of Samuel Johnson when he said, “Pleasure is very seldom found where it is sought. Our brightest blazes are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks.”

He eats the left behind mulberries, picking them out of my lawn and perhaps finding other bug treats there, too. He calls me to the bluffs, which is the place I would normally expect to see him.  He reminds me that one can experience more than forty years of living without seeing something common to the area yet uncommon to the eye, and it its second sighting is as miraculous as the first.

I look out my window and he is gone again.

He may come back again and he may never return. Either way, my life has been blessed because he was present  here and patiently, openly, showed himself to me.

I was feeling pretty darned angry this morning. It was an itchy sort of angry, unsettling and if I gave it too much attention, I would create a tangled rats nest of emotions. Intellectually, I know that tangled rats nest of emotions minimizes the passion of positive anger – the sort of intentional recipe of cause-based anger, creative anger rather than destructive anger.

My anger was based on the actions of a person who plays a significant role in my life, one which is not always positive.  Ever present and frequently igniting my worst rather than my best, yesterday I took a stand and said “No” to that pattern of behavior on my part.

It felt incredibly powerful.

Today some lack of consciousness somehow allowed a bit of the non-powerful-niggling stuff to tumble into my being.

I was doing some laser-chores and decided to light some candles. I brought our my usual trusty kitchen matches, but they wouldn’t strike a spark. The box felt limp and damp, incapable of having enough strength for the match to debate into a spark.

“Omph!” I muttered and on an impulse, I took the match and struck it on my lavender colored wall.  Immediately the match sparked into a perfect, candle-lighting flame.

“They really DO light anywhere!” I said aloud to no one and everyone.

I lit the three waiting candles and said the word “love”. The first time, I simply said it.  “Love.”  The second time, I felt it. “Love.” The third time I invoked it, prayed it, and sent my love to the person who was the target of my tangled anger. “Love.”

And then it permeated my soul, too. “Love.”

It lights anywhere and everywhere we allow it. Is it even amidst tangled, cluttered emotions and even amidst confusion and chaos? When it is given the right inspiration and intention - yes, the spark is there, all the time, anywhere.

It sure feels better than being mad.