A man in our society is not left alone. Not in the cities. No

in the woods. We must have commerce with our fellows, and

that commerce is difficult and uneasy. I do not understand

how to live in this society. I don t get it. Each person has an

enormous effect. Call it environmental impact if you like

Where my foot falls, I leave a mark, whether I want to or not.

We are linked together, each to each. You can t breathe with-

out taking a breath from somebody else. You can t smile with-

out changing the landscape. And so I ask the question: Why

is theatre so ineffectual, unnew, not exciting, fussy, not con-

nected to the thrilling recognition possible in dreams?

It s a question of spirit. My ungainly spirit thrashes around

inside me, making me feel lumpy and sick. My spirit is this

moment dissatisfied with the outward life I inhabit. Why does

my outward life not reflect the enormity of the miracle of ex-

istence? Why are my eyes blinded with always new scales, my

ears stopped with thick chunks of fresh wax, why are my fro-

gets calloused aga/n? I don t ask these questions lightly. I beat

on the stone door of my tomb. I want outl Some days I wake

up in a tomb, some days on a grassy mound by a river. To-

day I woke up in a tomb. Why does my spirit sometimes re-

treat into a deathly closet? Perhaps it is not my spirit leading

the way at such times, but my body, longing to lie down in

marble gloom and rot away.

Theatre is a safe place to do the unsafe things that need to

be done. When it s not a safe place, it s abusive to actors and

audiences alike. When its safety is used to protect cowards

masquerading as heroes, it s a boring travesty. An actor who

is truly heroic reveals the divine that passes through him, that

aspect of himself that he does not own and cannot control.

The control and the artistry of the heroic actor is in service to

his soul.