Theatre of the wind, Thor's theatre

Eugenio belongs to Odin. I belong to Thor. I named my theatre -- which does not exist yet, except in its consecration -- Theatre Of The Wind.

A year later I was on the Danish seacoast. A cold day with cold winds. The tiny fishing town was called Thorsminde, "minding Thor," or "keeping Thor's memory." Walking the stone pier, a crashing wave drenched my hair. I went in the restroom to dry it. I put my head under the blowdry machine and -- BAM! My head was slammed up against it. A huge hunk of hair wes yanked out of my head, and lay on the floor.

That was Thor, taking a sacrifice.

Three weeks ago I wrote the Odin, saying I wanted to join and would call Eugenio at 9:00 am, midnight here. At quarter till midnight, as I'm waiting to call, the granddaddy of all storms was raging. BAM! BAM! BOOOOOOM! We never get storms like this in Washington -- hours of rolling thunder, lightning cracking and sizzling. It kept getting nearer, until it was slamming right in back of our house, the power going off and on, as I dialed Eugenio.

That was Thor, again. Telling Odin I am here/his? Marking the day I join the Odin?

Whatever, those are portents, hard and unmistakeable. Thor is god of thunder, weather, and the sky, son of Odin.

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This is like that time at the Intiman. I was standing in the ghostlight after rehearsal, thinking about the gods in Cymbeline. I placed each of my dead in the seats -- plus my living mom next to my dead dad -- then visualized the chthonic gods in the stone below the seats and in the air (they are elemental), and asked them to bless Bart's theatre. The next morning we got an earthquake that slammed us out of the building. "I called the chthonic gods," I told Bart. "Why'd do you do THAT?" he said, shocked. "They CAME."

He was shocked I'd called them. I was shocked they came.