Always enough time

To increase time, come more present.-- Jim McCarthy, software teamwork guru

First, we must slow down time. -- Leonid Anisimov, master theatre director

Acting for NonActors is a 3-hour class. It's at the end of a workday, so folks are tired. We also take a break for snacks & Moment of Beauty. Some years ago, I had begun teaching 4-hour classes on Saturdays, just to get more elbow room -- more time, more rested actors.

So I was worried Tuesday that I would pace myself too slowly. I stayed present, had snacks only an hour in -- "Is this too soon?" "NO!" they chorused, delighted to see food appear -- and plunged steadily and together into deepness. Just after the most gorgeous stuff (kinesthetic response, statues, & meltaways), I moved into AfterNotes. We sat on the floor in the amber light. I went around the circle twice -- once, giving feedback to each actor, once them giving feedback on what they learned and where they were now. In these early days, they always comment on the group & the others. Soon, they will only comment on themselves.

We finished perfectly on the stroke of 9:00. "I like to end on time," I said with satisfaction, getting up. "See you next week." They didn't move. "What time does class end?" asked an uncertain voice. "Oh!" I said, remembering. "9:30! We still have half an hour!"

I paused. "No, I think we're done," I said. "Go home." They left, cheerful that they had had their deep experience AND ended early.

It made me laugh. Here I'd been worried about having only three hours -- and I fit it all in two-and-a-half.

To have more time, come more present. First, we must slow down time.

Talent

This first encounter is the rockiest. They have never been where we're going, and I don't know if they will go. ("No quizzes! No tests! No grades!" yelled one of the Improv actors, leaping around the room at break. "I LOVE this class!" "Nope. Just a performance in front of 50 strangers," I said dryly.) In the early stages, while they still look like daily humans instead of translucent gods, I am scared of them. It's not till after Check-In... usually well into Walking... that they start to luminesce and I start to relax.

"How do you know if they want to go?" I asked my acting teacher, Mark, once. "If they really want the biggest scariest ride?" "If they're in the room, they want to go," he said matter-of-factly. To this I cling, in those early hours when they look like strangers.

"We're a pretty talented group, huh?" asked one actor at the break, as we munched crackers and cheese and grapes. "I don't know," I said. "I can't tell till I see you move." He visibly relaxed. "I'm glad you're not one of those people who think everyone is talented," he said. "I think everyone has hidden depths," I said, thinking. "What lies in those depths... is the Mystery." He nodded and left.

Like Katagiri Roshi I believe Talent is a water table, available to all, which we tap with our human effort. Like Leonid I believe our task in life is to make all people Talented. Talented, to me, means being supple enough that the Mystery can flow through you.

Teacher

"What would you do, Rrrahchul, if you could? What theatre would you build?" asked Leonid once, sitting in the moonlight after dinner at my house. I described it, haltingly -- how I would have a troupe and train them and make performances. "You are not a director," he said decisively. I felt chopped in half. "You are a teacher," he said. There was a little silence, while I reflected glumly. "I, too, am not a director," he said. "I, too, am a teacher."

Madeline L'Engle, author of A Wrinkle In Time and The Wind In The Door, was once having an Immortal name the Gifts of each child in the story. "You are a Teacher," she said to one. "And you are a Namer -- you can Name what a person is." At the age of 10, I thought, "What's the difference?" At 47, I still think, "What's the difference?" Perhaps because in me, those are both part of my Gift, inseparable.