On Returning

You know - it's been a long time since I wrote here.

Seems to be the mantra of the on-again, off-again blogger, eh?

I know that there are people who followed this sucker back when I was trying hard to put something out into the blogosphere weekly.  There was a time I tried for daily but that was so unrealistic even I laughed at myself.

I recently found out that the title "Redefined Juliet" has been grabbed up by a theatrical ensemble trying to redefine who gets to play the role of Juliet for the masses.  When something like that happens I never know if I should be flattered or offended or a little bit of both.

It's not like I own it.  I just thought of it first.

But then again, there's nothing super new under the sun, and Shakespeare's play has been around for centuries, so the likelihood remains I'm not actually the first at anything - even this.

My life has changed so much since I last wrote here I don't even feel like I belong.

From a self-defined Christian who absolutely believed in the fires of hell I've moved into a space where I absolutely don't believe a loving God could send anyone to eternal torment.  I mean anyone.  That God loves unconditionally.  Eternally.  Forever.  I realize in some circles this makes me a heretic.  That's okay, because I'm a bit queer myself and most of my closest friends are gay.  I don't know what I really think about monogamy anymore in a world made with so much Love.  I live in a place that is finally accepting me and my art and exactly who I am is almost mainstream.  I've had a lot of hard discussions with a lot of wonderful people.  I've cried in front of people who are super close to me and people who are close to strangers.  I've read a lot.  I've done a lot of traveling alone.  I've gone to a lot of dive bars.  I've made a lot of art that not a lot of people see. 

But what is this space about, if not about the constant cycle of redefinition?  Of being Oneself?  Of connecting with the Eternal.  Nothing, eh?  Nothing at all.

Right now I'm reading Amanda Palmer's book: The Art of Asking.  It's great.  And inspiring. 

I've been inspired by a lot of things lately.  Burlesque shows and teaching artists and vaudeville and 1970's punk rock.  I got a mohawk on a whim at a fundraiser for my favorite theatre company.  My nails have been black for two weeks and it's pretty freaking great.  I feel like...  things are actually starting to make sense for me as a human.  And the things that don't make sense really shouldn't. 

I'm directing for actual money.

Tonight I'm going to my second acting class since 2001. 

Sometimes I'm the teacher.  Sometimes the student. 

I'm allowed to still be learning.

I've brushed off my old piano books and I'm playing.  Actually playing again.  Classical music mostly, but trying desperately to figure out other ways to play.

I don't know why I feel the need to write this out into the Universe for you.

I continue to believe that God is Good.  I continue to be a follower of Jesus. 

I continue to be frustrated when people don't understand how that could be true for someone who thinks abortion is sometimes necessary and gay love is real love and black fingernail polish and Dungeons and Dragons are things with which our children should be allowed to play. 

Sometimes I feel like I don't know what anything means.  And you know what?  That's okay.  That's okay.

I never finished my series on the Sermon on the Mount and the Beattitudes.  I suppose at some point I will come back to it, as the whole things is still so dear to my heart.  But for now...  expect some changes if I ever choose to write again.  Expect some change.