The Day the Rains Came
[We are a spit away from an interspecies production of Black Beauty as a ballet... it has been boiling hot without a hint of rain... see previous posts. 7 min read - long chapter!]
Leading up to the performance the last members of our group have arrived at La Combe. Over the days that follow by some ecocentric miracle, we weather three out of five of the trending ‘Tuckman’ model of group development***.
We ‘form’, ‘storm’ and arrive at some kind of ‘norming’, bound together by the common purpose of successfully performing and helping host the Conference-with-an-incredibly-long-title, shortened to ‘The Colloquium’. But we have a better model to follow – an ecocentric way of being.
Each of us is learning in our own way and at our own pace.
And my learnings with Velu (a cow) and from watching these animal communicators makes me quieter in the group, while the pages of my journal fill up faster.
FULL BODIED ECONOMY
Our numbers swell…
in every scene some common ground is trod
I settle down and others’ shoulders drop
free to be
just BE
our host, ‘Madame Formidable’, Marthe
engaged in inter-species talk
speaks direct – heart to heart
and love takes many forms – a snort, a laugh, a momentary glare -
all of these emotions animal and human share
Marthe’s senses hone my own
adding something I forgot ‘til now:
economy
with words and life’s material
finding themselves recycled in this tea-themed parallel
be warned!
the re-infused ‘economy’ blend
keeps its taste
no dregs
no waste.
Some of the dregs of my life, feel like they’re beginning to disappear. The weather rises in temperature and with them our anticipation, tasks and rehearsing.
The day arrives. The barn boasts professional theater lighting that Chris R and Chris B fought for days to erect and get working.
We are all set.
But the weather has other ideas.
Bizarrely, the opening – for a reason I can’t recall – takes the audience away from France to Africa. Perhaps the irresistible sound of Wimoweh, me wearing a makeshift turban is supposed to ready the spectators for something ‘other’? Or is it a nod to Marthe’s big cat and elephant encounters? Whatever, I’d been coached by Marthe in the art of dancing ‘African style’ although her expression conveyed nothing but undisguised dismay at my efforts.
I am waiting in the wings (outside the barn), as is the whole cast including animals.
Ten minutes before we start.
It grows dark way before sunset.
And the sky throws a tantrum which threatens a premature adjournment of the whole show.
Vertical rain comes down in sheets, poised immediately over the barn.
Then comes the thunder. Great claps of a kind we do not wish to hear, yet… The horses, already fired up for dancing, roll the whites of their eyes, instantly agitated. Marthe’s concerns are – rightly – animal welfare first. Her human cast, in their costumes, are drenched and attempting to shelter, protect props and calm animals all at once.
To abandon or not to abandon? The storm might pass in five, ten or fifteen minutes or… be set in for the night.
Surely it the show must go on?
I find myself just inside the barn where Marthe is preparing to make an announcement. Her face is so grim I sense her decision.
Suddenly, my heart starts beating so loud it overrides the thundering of the rain on the barn roof. The adrenaline of fear which must be faced: now.
You’ll recognize situations like this. When you’re propelled to undertake a leap into the unknown. When your head momentarily screams,
‘I can’t do this.’
And some quiet whisper or solid lump in your stomach tells you,
‘You don’t have to.’
And ‘you’ don’t, because some presence, the essence of all you are un-self-consciously steps forwards and acts.
I find myself striding over to Marthe and telling her I can – will – perform some poetry while the storm abates. If she would like…
It’s probably the last thing on her mind, nor wants to contemplate, not least since most of the audience understand little English.
But it might make time a little more elastic.
How my poems fly into my hands I can’t remember, did I rip them from the wall of the barn where they’d been pinned?
But with a ‘mesdames et messieurs’ in execrable French, but with an excellent accent, I explain I am going to entertain them with poésie.
The storm roars without me.
Bemused spectators laugh a little, are confused and misunderstanding a little, listen a little and between the lines we wait for the storm to subside.
A handful of poems later, the Black Beauty Ballet begins.
*** Tuckman’s model of group process or development was based on five movements which became popular to quote in corporate-speak, as if it demonstrated an understanding of the human psyche. It went like this: forming, storming, norming, performing and adjourning.
#courage #challenge #storm #performance