Bidding a fond, a loving farewell

As I lay on the empty stage in the early hours of this morning, looking up at the lighting rig and feeling the music in the pulse of the decking, I experienced an interlude of true bliss.

I’m not someone who finds it easy to be in the moment. As Beth says, I’m not used to sitting still, let alone lying still, in a moment of suspended awareness. But as I looked at the auditorium, stripped of set and turned back to a plain black box, I realised that there is something powerful about the evanescence of theatre.

The instinct to cling on to happiness or to try to outrun anxiety means that I often miss what is happening in the moment. In rehearsals I’ve been mindful, in every sense, responding to the cast who were in turn learning to live fully in the moment as their characters. I know this will sound more than a bit pretentious but it’s been powerful; sharing in a communal and purposeful mindfulness.

I have a tattoo of a poem from the Zen gardens at the Temple of the Golden Pavilion. The characters, taken together, read “may I learn only to be content.” It means, among other things, that nothing is permanent. Everything is to be welcomed for as long as it lasts and then let go.

Easier said than done. But last night – this morning, really – in the company of the Life and Beth family, I experienced momentless, effortless contentment. All hopes, worries, fears and desires fell away and for a time I just was.

I’m listening to this on a loop and relishing the memory of that peace.

Thank you. And merry Christmas.