I Have Never Been A Reverential Person Essay

I Have Never Been A Reverential Person Essay

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I have never been a reverential person. A tactless skeptic has burrowed in my thoughts and poked holes in any part of me that might have believed. To admit belief in something bigger than myself is a leap of faith that I simply do not know how to make. But I can admit to something important, something powerful and passionate, buried deep within my own bones. It is in my bones and my body that I have sheltered the duende.
It is the most easy to recognize this duende when it is invited and prepared for. I have not just invited the duende in, but have hounded it, lashed out at it, and wooed it. This is how I prepare to perform.
I have been performing since I was eight years old, but it was only in the last two years that I realized its power. Currently, I am experimenting with a new form of theatre, that demands more of my body than of my mind. This experimentation is called physical theatre, and it is the lovechild of acting and dancing.
Now, understand this -- I am no dancer. There is no grace or care in my dances, no sense of restraint or care. But there is a heat in the way I move.
On stage, I burn with each movement. Eyes follow me, applauding as I rip out my innards, enraptured as I set myself alight. I am a phoenix, I am a forest fire, I am from ash and returning to it.
There is no beauty in this heated display, only a cold comfort that they themselves will never be so foolish as to fall as I did.
Tristan and Isolde, Pyramus and Thisbe, Romeo and Juliet — do they fall in love to make their tragedy more poignant? Or is tragedy their punishment for loving? After just a taste of love, it devours them whole. Their names ripped and replaced, their stories broadcast across nations, then rinse and repeat. So that we can watch, noddin...

... middle of paper ...

...we couldn’t, we climbed through rocks and trees until we finally came across the tired old ruins that we had set out to discover.
It was half of a house, sunken into the ground like it had admitted defeat. In the place that used to be its courtyard, we rested. We climbed over it and walked under it and tried to understand what exactly about it was so captivating, but it eluded us.
I sank to the ground, letting it swallow me as I laid on it. Eyes half lidded with sleep and tongue thick with booze, I drifted in a dream state. I became a part of this house, half beauty and half wreck. The grass swelled around me and took me in. My bones screamed to join with the soil and I felt the unmistakable call of the duende.
When the sun beating down on us became too unbearable, we left it, never looking back. We returned to the woods, to the beach, and finally to our campsite.

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