“It’s not what we eat but what we digest that makes us strong; not what we gain but what we save that makes us rich; not what we read but what we remember that makes us learned; and not what we profess but what we practice that gives us integrity.”
It’s been an interesting period of life. This is becoming more and more of a trend, as the highs/lows seem to be leveling out and appearing to be a constant over time. However, this is life. Boring is overrated and for the weak-minded. Let’s take a ride.
When was the last time you were in an old theater? No, I’m not talking about an AMC Theater that’s had a few years behind it, but the type of place where thousands of plays and performances have been held; a place with a little history underneath its skin. Yes, that’s what I’m talking about. Think about that place. What goes on there?
There’s something interesting and appealing about old theaters. They tell a a story in that they’ve told thousands of them. It’s a place of action, tragedy, love, heartbreak, violent murders, standing ovations, and perspiration-infused performances with endless hours behind each show. It’s on this stage that anything is possible; the villain can receive a standing ovation, the adulteress receive audience sympathy with newfound redemption, and the place where even the most sinister of concepts, actions, and characters are given the opportunity to be prominently displayed.
A comedy may be followed by a tragedy. The standing ovation will soon be accompanied by jeers and thrown vegetables. The anticipation before the curtain raises will only be transformed into a sigh of relief when it falls for the first – and last – time. Shining lights, velvet curtains, sequin dresses, tuxedos and crimes of passion, all on the same stage. It’s a beautiful thing.
Personally, I have a minor intrigue with these places. They bleed of possibility; anything can happen, everything has happened, and the future is uncertain. Dreams will be made, shattered, and reborn. Sinister characters will have their reign of terror, only to find themselves outsmarted by the greater good in the end – giving hope to the audience that all things must have a happy ending. There must be something very interesting about sitting in the midst of an old theater, closing your eyes, and imagining all of the small bouts of stage glory that have occurred from within the room you are sitting in.
We’re all actors; puppets of the will and reasoning (or in many tragedies, unreasoning) mind. Is it possible for us to change our destiny and defeat those very forces of evil which threaten our proverbial damsel in distres? This has been my question for quite some time now; is it possible to change the course of your life, or are we held as slaves of the unseen forces which create the background of our lives? Do we truly have free choice, or do we make free choices within the bounds of possibilities developed from the seconds, hours, and years of prior experience leading up to our daily lives? I choose not to touch the stove because I have learned, at some point in my life, that it is hot and will burn me.
The puppet or the puppeteer? The dummy or the ventriloquist? The crafty magician or the stage assistant? The main act or just a freak show precursor? The rabbit or the hat? The knife or the thrower? Who are we? Can we change the story we live in?
The show must go on.
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