Held in the Grasp of Ghosts

Flying to Boston this morning on a clear blue day, looking out of my aisle seat number 14 window out to my right…the blinding glare of the rising sun had just begun to pass over the top of us when I looked down…to see that the curving coastline of Cape Cod was unfurling out below me.  I craned my neck as the miles passed by tens and twenties over the my bemused window seat compatriot when as I jockeyed to look more ahead..I could finally see the hook and hook of the tip.  This is the part of the cape…the furthest from Boston…..that protects Provincetown.  And…as I looked down from 26,000 feet, watching the fist of Massachusetts protecting this former Portuguese fisherman’s village…I had my epiphany.  …the reason I return over and over again to this place…the reason for the quest….the reason I need to be here.  Because…I realized that not only was that fist protecting Provincetown but….it was also there to protect me.  Protect me and the countless writers and artists and poets who also…NEED…to be here.  Here…I have my protection.  Here…I can write what I need to write with the ghost of artist and writers past standing hand in hand on the rocks protecting me….and…all of the other current residents of this sphere who find this tiny town a respite… and…an Eden.  It finally hit me……26,000 feet in the clear blue fall sky….and all from aisle seat number 14. 

In the years ahead…I will be one of those hand in hand on those same rocks…holding hands with the writers and artists of the past as we protect the creators of the future….carrying this sacred place forward through time and space.

As O’Neill  [One of the writers on the rocks] said in his masterpiece “Long Day’s Journey Into Night”…”the moment of ecstatic freedom” . It is now something that I can call my own.  Call my own now…as I am speeding on a ferry from Boston……now only miles from my own personal Mecca.

 

I have found my place.

Art Imitates Life

Very sad news today as the final Polish Picnic in southern NJ scheduled for this Sunday was cancelled due to expenses and diminished crowds. My play "Indoor Picnic", opening on October 26th at SCTC tells such a similar tale.  A story of old traditions being left behind as our cities and neighborhoods change. A story of people, still living in the past grapple with the change all around them as their city becomes a different place with new people and problems.  A story filled with old world music and celebrations that are now disappearing as a new, more dangerous city rises, as seen through the eyes of a few residents.  Their story is told through laughter and tears; the essence of life itself.  The  Polish Picnic ending at this particular time is an eerie reminder to all of us that change is always around and, how we adapt or do not adapt to it, can be triumphant or tragic.  Please get your tickets for this three week run at www.southcamdentheatre.org.  Come grow with us at our home in Waterfront south.