Reflections on Phantasm, the enactment of my own piece of writing.

Rose Purse (O n&On) and Danielle Maas (Simulacrum)

Theatre is the last beacon of knowledge, stir, critique and substantially the last resort of thought, in our march in this veiled life upon obscure ages.

-- Tandasi Susuki

The theatrical plane stretched out into a concentration, a stage. The excitement of theatre beset me. I sat behind, thudding heart, intimate with exposition and watching my work move in and over heads, missing ears, making some receive, confusing others, angering some, boring the non-believers. It, out there, was no longer me and I was humbled, satisfied. I could have critiqued the awful setting, the dissonant sound of the bar behind us, see the heaviness of my words, or the lightness of enlightenment they might bring in someone. I could critique the actors’ performance, see where they could have reached a greater implication or more of a tension, subtlety or reaction, or been more physical. Yet it was that silence of wonder, of moving within understanding, the presence of moment-um, of a delicious spectacle, a ritual of meaning, life of death and death of life; to know that we’d communed. Could i ask for any better parliament of humanity?
I think not.