what saint

Cuttings (later)

This urge, wrestle, resurrection of dry sticks,
Cut stems struggling to put down feet,
What saint strained so much,
Rose on such lopped limbs to a new life?
I can hear, underground, that sucking and sobbing,
In my veins, in my bones I feel it —
The small waters seeping upward,
The tight grains parting at last.
When sprouts break out,
Slippery as fish,
I quail, lean to beginnings, sheath-wet.

 

–       Theodore Roethke

 

Resurrection is in our nature – our returning to what we were before we were born. Applies administratively too? We push through the fascinating difficulties of production to get to a point where we lose ourselves completely in the lovely, serious give-away of performance.

 

“But now I ask: ‘What is the prayer of a heart that has detachment?’ And to answer it I say that purity in detachment does not know how to pray, because if someone prays he asks God to get something for him, or he asks God to take something away from him…” Meister Eckhart

 

Dramaturgically – a play that’s giving itself away doesn’t know how to be a play… it is detached even from being a play.

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