tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795284845836270713.post1611437821856843718..comments2024-03-27T11:23:43.902+00:00Comments on Beaker Folk of Husborne Crawley: The Waiting TimeWodeWosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381754587879658356noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795284845836270713.post-26607128086190639822012-04-07T13:01:08.720+01:002012-04-07T13:01:08.720+01:00Sorry for the long post...Sorry for the long post...Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795284845836270713.post-48375880640361024462012-04-07T13:00:00.331+01:002012-04-07T13:00:00.331+01:00Having been a drama person in my youth (BK - befor...Having been a drama person in my youth (BK - before kids), I feel like Holy Saturday is kinda like that first day after the show closes. In a show, we've taken 30-40 people most of whom never knew each other previously, and you pour your entire existence and soul into something magical. That while the audience gains a brief glimpse into the magic, you have the experience of the sweat, the tears, the arguments, the angst of the rehearsals culminating in a series of outpourings of your spirit -each performance needing to be just as good as the last, lest you rob any audience of your absolute best. Then comes closing night...the realization that your intense time together is over...what's next? Where will everyone go? Will I ever see any of these people again? Those with whom I have poured out my entire soul night after night in vulnerable joy? The striking of the set, the exhausting process of tearing down the magic that you've created - never to be seen again. Sure, that show may be done again, but never with the same energies or feelings. And then the tears, hugs and goodbyes. The empty promises to "keep in touch", and the aloneness in your apartment the next day. The realization that you, like the others goes back to "the real world" now with only faded memories of the magic. <br /><br />I just figured out you have an IP sniffer that tells you I'm from Eugene, OR. Close, but no cigar. I'm actually from a little town 2 hours north, Salem, the capitol of our luscious state of Oregon (pronounced Or-reh-gun - the only people who say Or-ree-gone are people who don't live here or have moved here from the south and don't think they have an accent). Widely considered the heart of the unBible belt, I am on the border between the Enlightened Atheists and the Rural Believers. I am one of those liberal Episcopalians who believes that God said to love everyone, no exceptions and that the saying "love the sinner, not the sin" is complete nonsense - love completely, no exceptions.<br /><br />I wish all of you in your community a blessed Easter morn. And with the resurrection, the show will go on, the end of the magic was momentary and fleeting.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com