In this chapter of THE STORIES FOR CHILDWOMAN (2000-2023), we find her trying out her new dream voices in her journey from exile, in search for home; Grandmother continues to be her usual young old, somewhat happily flighty and cranky self; and Grandchildren create and hold their own space.
In the second half of Act Two, Jesters muse about trivia and dreams, Childwoman and Grandmother merge for a moment, when the older woman shows actual proof of the dream crystals she kept from the ancient mountains…
In the beginning of Act Three, we meet CAT and GENIE and are invited to visit the MUSEUM OF THE UNCLAIMED. SEA MONSTERS enter the scene in shades of deep green, silver scales and algae to put on a grandiose show about stepping off the referendum and the middle of the road…
For a recap on the first three installments of the Stories click on my main page and look for: Stories for Childwoman, Act One; Uni verse; and Uni-versity, beginning of Act Two.
(BUNDLES OF HERBS HANG FROM THE MOBILE STRUCTURES. LARGE LACQUER INSECTS AND OTHER TREASURES ARE SEEN ABOUT THE STAGE - FIRE BURNS INSIDE A LARGE BOWL IN CENTER STAGE) (JESTERS muse about TRIVIA and about DREAMS…) And so that was when she, Childwoman decided it was time to stop. Trivia As you strip yourself of trivia, the tenderloin of muscle disappears... perspectives clarify the sculpture in your thoughts and lines are drawn clear across white space You are left with something other, some unit made of pieces, a quiet down of self, a slowing down, a leisure, a passion, emboldening of trace, less and less, you look at trivia and have no words, rid of words - you have a silence you have a dream. In between this world and her other one, it was then that Childwoman had her second real dream. A dream about mountains, so tall, so regal, a set of knights and queens dressed in crowns of gold and ice. Frozen waterfalls, she could almost touch these mountains of rock, mauve moss, masses of flowers, fields of stone, so so high. Way up, way up. "How can I know of such beauty", she asked herself in wonder, as she climbed and climbed and climbed, her body prone she was so inclined. Sideline of woman companion she had in this dream. She had a woman as a guide. Abyss of valley rift, between her and the mountain surfaces she could almost touch she was so close. So close to touch - the fear of the climb, shades of green moss, red of rock, clear crevices, textures of remembrance. And so that was when she knew she had met the gods and the goddesses of her dreams. The beautiful gods and goddesses of all her theatre of pantomimes, of all her plays, of all their plays and all their pantomimes, a theatre in heaven? (GRANDMOTHER RECITES CHILDWOMAN'S DREAM) The Crystal Mountains When the mountains were made of crystal, I went up to the mountains with my father and with my brothers and we collected these little pieces of clear rock. Mother then was not with us, she was not at home.
When the mountains were made of marble, I was then alone. I traced the cold veins of the surface of the mountains with my tongue. When the mountains were made of volcanic rock I envied those who climbed the mountains to watch the warblers nest. I, like my mother, was not there, I was not at home. When the seas parted, I was nowhere to be seen. I missed that. But when this woman I barely knew took me by her hand and made me ride up those mountains ` with me reluctant at first then much on my own climb that steep alpine paradise, so high my body so keen and prone I was so inclined to see and touch the queens and kings, When that man I barely knew told me to trust him. When he took me with his mind to the place of water and made me drown made me remember made me drink from dream, I explained, I talked in vain. I knew though that even then, in all the scary travels I did with her, in all the fancy flights of dream I did with him, I knew then and I know now, through vein of rock and marble liquid crystal clear, it is simple, it is a journey, and it is fine. In a smile, wide tooth reaching smile, Childwoman starts her journey back from exile - to build again, again to build inside another dream. The gods, ah the gods, they stayed and played... AS THE CURTAIN FALLS, WE HEAR AN ANIMAL CHANT. NOT HUMAN. CHILDWOMAN FINDS HER FIRST VOICE. END OF ACT II BEGINNING OF of ACT III JOURNEY FROM EXILE (IN SEARCH OF NATIVE LANDS) The Places of Sins (GRANDCHILDREN) Grandma, grandma can we please have another one!!
(GRANDMOTHER) Hush, live me alone! I need to meditate. Go fly a kite or something, leave me alone. Go plant a seed, go read a book, go reminisce, go play with tads, go watch them grow, go feed the frogs, go, go, go!
(GRANDCHILDREN) Grandma that is not fair. You told us there would be more. And also when you start to talk like that, you told us we should enter-sphere. You told us we should in-trued. Break down a rule of word and pierce-the-sphere and per-severe until we get in, get true. So, we let you go for now and do your stuff, but we will be back to get some more of story. (JESTERS) Cat When the child abandoned looks at you once - you adopt in your soul the child abandoned. When the child abandoned comes back from exile, she brings with her a strong male cat. This cat, the shadow image of the child, who in sequence, day by day wins over your soul. He tells you who you are, not by telling you, but by showing you how to kill. How life and death and play are one and are the same. And in the end, he falls asleep, light as a feather, against your writing finger. This lovely "en guard" gang warfare creature lives inside your house, just like you do. He does not know or indeed maybe he does know the many meanings of surrender.
Genie And out of the air there pops a genie A pixie freckled genie in joy of play in fluid dance she moves her hands to emphasize the soft edges of her many points She shakes her head a gaze of brown huge eyes a sprinkle of a smile a body tall as willow no roots on earth this creature no bird but antelope of breath made out of air strong haunches legs and hips to sprint in leaps taut muscle a graceful arch she rises into the giddy air She flies and when she lands she tells me everything… (ANOTHER JESTER INTERJECTS) And that is how this tale got told. The first place you must stop in your journey home is the place of sins. Never mind the journey to see sculptures in nature, never mind sculptures in concrete or steel man made. Never mind other man woman made art. The misgivings and mishaps, the miscarriages, the broken hips, hearts, limbs. The little hidden or not so hidden places will tell you more than anything, than anyone, about your quest. First stop then, The Museum of the Unclaimed. (MUSIC - NINA SIMONE "Don't let me misunderstood") (CHILDWOMAN TENTATIVELY EXPLORES HER VOICE)
Come with me and I will guide you to the place of the unknown, this space inside where you must shout sometimes to hear, a lapse in memory, the carnival of the forgotten, the orgies.
Laurels of Daphne stolen, unseen imagined treasures, stone insects made out of lacquer, sharp black in gold and silver of Apollo’s bounty, his goods all stolen from the corner store, the blame on her, the books returned, the pencils broken, her voice en-silenced, the conqueror, he won, it seems, indeed he won.
Go there in need, retrieve, uncover, go grieve cry howl, go be in pain. Find slowly your way back to the museum of the unclaimed. Go there and find the terror, go search for your crown of laurels, inhale the this of who you are, retrieve, uncover.
Go claim that which has had no voice, go find the fox the other side of tunnel, go bring inside that which has seen no light. Bring back the serpent and a bowl of flames, go know the herbs, gather in the shells from underneath the rivers.
Go mold the clay of self inside the place of memories, from the museum of the unclaimed. Go take a chance to find your many mothers, rosemary mother of the water, calm mother for the soothing mint.
Just like my beads of many colors, go string the pearls that have become unraveled. What stays outside, go mold inside reverse the game.
No apologies nor excuses necessary.
Conceive it just as dance, a simple journey. Go take a chance to rebuild your home. Go take a chance to redesign your native land.
The material stuff and the feeling thoughts from the museum of the unclaimed.
(SEA MONSTERS APPEAR AND CHAT WITH CHILDWOMAN AND JESTERS ABOUT NIGHT MARES AND POSITIONS TO TAKE)
From the seas of the past two years or so born there are a monster or two. Not the night mares come back to haunt me, the ones I chased in gallop back out to sea.
They come instead, the monsters, dressed up as ninnies, customized for this carnival of follies, full with the regalia of the I. These the imaginaries emerge from the tepid waters and between the foam and the bubbles they growl:
"Strip yourselves off this referendum, get off this fence, the middle of this road and dress yourselves up as clowns!" They bellow through the mist and the white, water spluttering, slicking down their silver scales.
These crocodile like monsters dry my tears and strike at the heart and the mind of this uncompromising culture of no edges. This closed culture that goes to church to worship intolerance, to protest forgiveness. With the openness and reluctance of a clam about to be picked up, this culture protects the species, the tribe, the status of the quo. In the temperance of behaviourism, the beliefs that have never taken hold yet hide the sins of man. Change and unfolding enclosed inside this known closed shell of being.
Rules to be known, be reckoned with, from kindergarten to old age gardens - control, control, control. The self explained as made of little more than controlling dnas. The universe explained as made of little more than dnas and ins and outs encompassed inside the little knowings of duality.
Unfolding of being an exercise in control! To concentrate, to practice and practice meditation. Contradiction in terms and more protestant control. The isms of practice in control!
"Strip yourselves off these notions and dress up as clowns!” said the monsters as they come out of the turbulence from the seas of the last, oh I would say, past two years.
Do not let it get away! Do not let this fun, this funny joy escape! I say, calling after the monsters. Do not let this division of self take away and strip my dark of light. And how they try, the men of cloth sneak in and strip, stakes they drive! The women of conviction and religion how do they try, come and seduce me, to take away, eradicate that which is not mine at all, but dwells deep inside the she.
For all the years, for all the dreams from tidy dream time, to wake up once. "Puff" of genie, to wake once to the untidiness of nightmare dreams, beauty unraveled of untidy dream time.
At last, to conjure up the monsters in joyful and furious play!
And all becomes inside untidy metaphors, uncertain
quality of dream states, night mares, entire words of strange attire! Strange affairs of chosen course, unfolding, highly desirable emotional unfair states of mind.
"Strip yourselves down and dress up as clowns!" quipped the monsters.
To the minor notes in my ability to strip off trivia, to write off trivia and to continue to write at all. To the fact that I know of feelings other folks cannot even allow themselves to intuit, nor inkle about.
"Are not willing, cannot do it", chanted the monsters in falsetto unison.
From pause to paucity to poverty. I can then laugh again and the monsters "tutti prostituti", dance this ballet in the water, perfect slow raising of monster legs, in tandem, dressed in pure seaweed, green fancy boot up and up to the sky, good chuckle to the seas and splashing down in laughter.
"Strip yourselves of trivia and butt naked dress up as clowns!"
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This might be a first ending for the play, and other endings will follow. Stay tuned for more, coming up soon…
this is gorgeous~🙏