Between Here and Ever After

Everyone speculated that the theatre was the only place the dear lady ever knew happiness. She could portray heroines and damsels whose lives were far removed from her tortured own, speaking verses crafted by poets and wearing fine garments from charmed wardrobes. On the boards of the stage, illumined by footlights, she would bow to the applause thundering from silhouetted masses who congregated night after night to see her and the company of actors weaving stories and playing make believe with graceful abandon. 

Those many years later, we could hear her deceased footsteps and muffled dialogue in the backstage hallways and dressing room in the late evenings after the show had ended and the audience dribbled out of the theatre and into the indigo washed nightscape. On rare occasions, she could be glimpsed from the corner of an eye sitting the the audience or in the wings during blocking rehearsals or a final tech run through. 

One night she appeared to two of us as we were exiting the darkened theatre. She stood within arms distance looking towards the front row seats just before center stage. She appeared to be in her mid 30s, chestnut hair spilling over her drooping shoulders, pale skin and dark clothes. She was as real were we except she emanated a blue green mist and was half transparent. Her beauty was classic but her sadness made her appear eternal and ageless.     

'We mean you no harm' I said, 'We just want to go home'. 

She let us pass by the stage, the darkened hallways, the chilled dressing room, out the back door and into the alley.

When the door slammed shut, rather than fright, I felt sorrow for the ghost. Remaining here on earth, in the theatre of her youth. An eternity of watching us rehearsing and performing while conjoining with the backstage shadows and dimmed spotlights etched the eulogy of her untimely death. Unable to find her way to the gates where her company of actors are within waiting for their missing ingenue. 

I have always hoped someday this broken spirit, like us on that night, someday finds the path through shadows leading her back home. Amen. 

light plays curiously

upon the architecture

in heaven

bending beams

into symphonies

like strands

of molten glass

weaving tapestries

carressing monoliths

prisms exploding

refraction shards

within quartz cathedrals

illumining reverent faces

of angels and ancients 

and the unspoken others

gathered together

in fellowship

liquid crystal mosaics

entwine with sun light

reversing darkness

from within

here

prostitutes 

become sacred

the forsaken

now are

another finger

in the mudra

of Buddha

dawn rises swiftly

from below cloud vapors

dissolving orgasms

of moonplay

upon ocean tides

impregnating

the dome of sky

bringing new life

to the eternal

facades of destruction

crumble and yield

to light

and its sister

shadow

slowly realizing gazes 

eventually eclipse

heaven over matter

ceasing deceased beliefs

dark void moons

abyss 

vortex

conundrums

from vacant altars

of all

these are the words

born in silence

visioned

from light

traipsing across

mirrored chapels

lining the crossroads

between here

and ever after

All my love,

Max