Friday, September 13, 2013


Sometimes I realize I'm running on empty. Oh, I'm sleeping plenty, and I remember to eat more than I used to, and my life is going great, but my soul is hungry. I've been putting others and other things before me, before my dreams, before my being. And try as I might, I just can't care and love and give the way I like to unless my heart and soul and being are full, overflowing, drenched in inspiration. I don't think or know if it's this way for everyone, but I am an artist, for better or worse, and it is this way for me.

I'll notice it in little signs. The way I stretch my feet while on the subway, subconsciously sliding one foot out of my sandal, letting it gently press through a flexed position and slide into pointed. And repeat. My hands start to itch to paint. My thoughts play through my mind like a really great book, or narration of a film. And a dull, low ache, begins to wrap itself around my core. Sing. Dance. Move. Run. Play. Color. Try. Make. Trust. Write. Stretch. This little soundtrack composed by my inner most needs.

So I start to fill up. I watch things like this, and I think about the last time my bare feet touched the floor of a studio. And I marvel in the gifts that others have, and the wonders of what our bodies can do, and the ability to tell a story without speaking:
And I re-watch things like this, and I remember what it feels like to be so fully committed, and on fire with passion, and fearless and terrified all at the same time:

And I re-watch a season of this, to remember why I'm an actor, because ohmygod have you seen the genius that are these actors? The way their ability to do nothing is just everything? The way I become fixated that I must be on this show, I must be on this show. Or at least on the set, just watching, absorbing:
And I turn to words and poems and stories that crawl into the space of my soul that needs it the most:

And I think about how in the past, those words above would have surely sent me into a memory about broken hearts from boys, but seeing those words now, as I am in this very moment, I am aware of how very much it has nothing to do with boys. Quite frankly my heart is very happy in that area, thankyouverymuch. And this delights me. So instead of seeing that, this quote took the shape of me doing, trying, and going toward anything except what I want. For all the human reasons that we humans do that sort of thing. And in a way, that's almost worse than the kind of pain from a broken heart from other people. Breaking your own heart is worse. Except I think something is cracking, and it's either my sanity or my heart. And I think maybe instead of breaking, it's opening. Letting the light back in, or the fire back out, or both at once. And I wonder if I'll let it open all the way, or if I'll get to try again another time. Because eventually it will open to my truth.

And I fill up.

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