The Fire

RUTH is open. The first two of 19 performances are done.

I am happy. I am sad. I am angry. I am relieved. I am scared. I am depressed. I am okay. I am numb. (Rinse, lather, repeat)

Yesterday morning I left church, heavy-hearted with the holiday weekend streeetching out before me, and a kind woman who has kept up with us through church and CaringBridge came up to congratulate me on the play and the great advance press that we’d gotten. We talk about the show for a minute, and then she says, and it seems so out of the blue, “This week has been as hard as the week Mark died.” She took a step away, then turned back and said, “But art will save us. Art will out.”

In the Christian church, yesterday began Pentecost, the commemoration of when the Holy Spirit came to the people.

It was also Shavout, a holiday to commemorate God’s gift of the Torah to the people. A friend pointed this out, also noting that it is customary on Shavout to read…The Book of Ruth.

Tongues of fire. Burning down walls. Melting stone.

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About Vicki Caroline Cheatwood

Writerly. Rebooting. Evolving. Searching for great chicken salad.
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