An audition.

We are all on stage. We struggle as artists, because our art must be purposeful. We must be purposeful. Unless the art form points Home, it is only but self-indulgence.

After much struggling and soul-searching, I auditioned for a leading role in a play today.

Line after line, things were morphing- lines into theatre, theatre into life... the anger, the memories, the letting go, all in a page. Crisp, tight, real, and best of all masked in theatre.

Nobody knows, it is when we are on stage that we no longer act, and we become ourselves.

In the middle of the audition, I walked out to breathe for a time-out today, after listening to lines delivered by someone else. Line after line, things were morphing- lines into theatre, theatre into life. The anger, the memories, the letting go, all in a page. Crisp, tight, real. Masked in theatre, fleshed into life.

It hurts to act. And it should, for it is only when we re-enact the past and bring it back to the present do we truly learn to let it go. To be free, truly free, the past must be flogged, re-enacted and re-presented to an audience.

Nobody knows, it is when we are on stage that we no longer act, and we become ourselves.

So I auditioned, because it pointed Home.