Script for Fall 2007 Workshop, Part I.
From Oberon
Take Me to the Water; Projects in Dramaturgy, Fall 2007, Part I
Pre-Show Environment
- Slow Motion Water Balloon Piece - Either run from YouTube or Nicole will add to the end of the pre-show multi-media piece
First Memories of Water - Actors surround audience; each actor carries water in some kind of clear or translucent container
(There are many people on the stage, each one is staggered into their own space and each one is holding a different water holding container.)
Speaker 1/Peter: What was your first memory of water?
Speaker 2/Jacki: The first memory that I have was sitting on the fence with my family and watching a lightening storm.
Speaker 3/Grant: My first memory, now that’s really hard think about?
Speaker 4/Megan N.: Mine was being in a bath tub with my sister when I was really little. We had little bath toys that would swim when you wound them up.
Speaker 1/Peter: Think of the first thing that comes to mind.
Speaker 5/Annie: I had a little mermaid doll that would grow tattoos under water.
Speaker 6/Lucinda: I played with frog hoppers.
Speaker 7 (Nicole): I had water crayons. They were crayons made out colored soap, I think.
Speaker 8/Parakram: My first memory was when I saw my dog drinking out of the toilet, I started drinking out of the toilet too. To stop me from doing this my mom told me that the water was crab water and that giant crabs could come out and eat me if I stuck my hand in the toilet again. For a year after that I was afraid that a giant crab were going to come out of the toilet and grab me.
Speaker 9/Sophie: Mine was throwing a penny in the fountain.
Speaker 10/Akemi: Wait, does being born count?
Speaker 11/Megan K.: Getting muddy and wet while playing soccer in the pouring rain.
Speaker 1/Peter: Do you remember your birth?
Speaker 13/Kate: Splashing my brother with a water hose.
Speaker 10/Akemi: Well no.
Speaker 1/Peter: Then that’s not your first memory
Speaker 14/Luke: My first memory was playing with my sister in the ocean. I looked back and there was a big wave coming at me. I tried to run as fast as possible but couldn’t with my tiny legs, so I got knocked over by the wave.
Speaker 2/Jacki: Mine was my first swimming lesson, they were really scary. I didn’t want to let go of the wall.
Speaker 4/Megan N.: Then I pushed off from the ledge when my instructor wasn’t looking and all of the sudden I got scared and my arms started to flail. I tried to grab onto something but nothing was there. The water started splashing into mouth and I started to chock. Fortunately my friend, who was at the ledge, grabbed me and pulled me back to the safety of the side. The swimming instructor didn’t know what happened until later.
Speaker 5/Annie: When I lived in Oregon, my family took a long care ride to a long, flat, gray beach. I was looking at the shells with my Mom and saw a sand dollar in the water, so I ran ahead of her. The rip tide caught me and took me out. She caught me, but I was covered in sand. I was all right, just a little scared though.
Speaker 6/Lucinda: I had one of those rain coats with a duck hood and matching boots. When I was four I would put them on and go dancing in the rain.
Speaker 7/Nicole: My first memory
Speaker 8/Parakram: My first memory was a motor boat in Thailand
Speaker 9/Sophie: Jumping into a pool without my swimmies on.
Speaker 11/Liz: When I was first diagnosed with diabetes the symptoms involve insanely amount of thirst that last for 5 months. That kind of thirst is horrible because no matter how much you drink you are never satisfied, never hydrated.
Speaker 12/Grant: My first memory
Speaker 10/Akemi: Seeing Shammoo at sea world.
Speaker 14/Luke: Looking at my parents’ fish tank.
Speaker 3/Grant: My first memory of water happened when I was two. (Other actors sit.) I was sitting n the couch with my family watching a documentary on TV by Jacques Cousteau, (Run Cousteau video) I don’t remember what it was called, and until I was older I didn’t know who Jacques Cousteau was. In fact, the only things I can remember was this bit where the a giant grouper fish was swimming around the diver in a sort of beautiful waltz and another image of a diver swimming through an strange cave full of coral reefs. I know after that, whenever I would take a bath, I would dip my head into the water and dream I was swimming in an underwater world. I pretended that I was “a water man of ze sea, exploring ze beautiful and intricate worlds of the ocean." I wanted to listen to the the fragile symphony of innerspace, (at this point speaker’s voice should fade in with that of Jaques Cousteau’s; Frogman enters) the many songs of water. (Singing begins.) Listen to the bubblings of snuffs and boats, the deafening embrace of rivers mating with oceans, the songs of dying shores and prick up your ears to the water people, my brothers. Understand that water and life are infinitely bound and we must protect that life for our future generations.
Song: "Down to the River to Pray"
Sea-Being - props include sketch book with script and two plates of candles and matches; clay figure to hold
Adapted from the legend as told by John Xot of the Puyallup tribe (Lucinda and Kate sit side by side at a table; a single light illuminates both scripts; they face forward for the most part; throughout or at some point they hold hands.)
This is a story from the island of Bati’l, the merman, or what we now call Fox Island.
An open place, a beach that is flat and warm grey and stretches out beneath the clear sky into the open water.
In the old times, there was a little girl who lived in a village near the shore, and every day she would go to the waterline to play, and there she would make shapes from the sand.
Her black hair laughs down her shoulders as she runs over the clay-rich sand to the water, and the waves rush bubbling and foaming over her bare toes and into the small footprints she leaves behind her.
Every day she made shapes of the animals and fish and birds that she saw and dreamed of; every day she left her shapes on the shore for the sea to take back into itself.
She has to leave now, reluctantly, called back to the village by her father.
And every day the sea took her sand-shapes gratefully and held them in its rolling waves.
See now, someone from the water rises, and watches her go with deep eyes, and he reaches with a hesitant hand to cradle the shape she left to his chest.
Time passed.
The sun rises
and sets
and rises
and sets, staining the sky,
the sand,
the water, and the tide flickers in and out upon the shore as she walks to the waterline,
and with every step she is growing a fraction older,
just as her counterpart in the water, watching her with care and longing, is growing older too with every wave,
just as her father on the land watching her with care and worry is growing older with every moment that his daughter is gone.
For this is the way time passes.
Until one day, unexpectedly, she was a teenager, and the most beautiful girl in her village.
And everywhere she goes there are eyes following her with desire, eyes that she is unwilling to meet.
No longer did she go down to the shore, for her father forbid it, fearing for her safety.
Her heart beats in her chest, a caged animal, and though she keeps her lips closed and eyes lowered, she cannot stop her heart from screaming.
He thought that marriage to one of the village’s young men would keep those who desired her at bay, and so every night he invited one to dine with him and his daughter.
They sit in a circle around the fire and eat hot fish, and the young man’s eyes roam over her face and hair and body while he speaks to her father, but the girl will not look at him, and his words do not touch her.
But every time his daughter was cold to the young men, for though they looked at her
they cannot see her
they could not see her, and though they memorized the shape of her body beneath her clothes
they know nothing of the shape of her dreams or the texture of her fingers molding sand
they knew nothing of her, and as such she could not give herself to any of them.
Her father watches with sad and troubled eyes.
Not one of them returned to dine another night.
And time passed.
But one day, a young stranger, who moved with slow grace and wore shells around his neck, asked her father if he could dine with them that night.
He moves lightly, he does not walk but drift, even when sitting still, except for his eyes, quiet and fixed...
She did not speak to him but she listened; she did not look at him directly but out of the corners of her eyes; so when they had finished their meal her father rose with his same heavy sadness, expecting another failure.
But the stranger does not look at him.
But the stranger did not look at him.
He turns to her and he says
He held out his hand to her and he said
This is yours.
In his brown salt-stained palm rests a clump of sand that holds her fingerprints.
And she looked into his eyes and asked him to dine with them another night.
He agrees, and it begins, hesitantly, with the contact of fingertips and hardened sand.
He returned the next night, and the next, and the next, and each night he left the girl with questions in her heart she dared not ask and a brightness in her eyes.
Her father sees this and deep in him he is afraid but he does not know why.
After three days she could not bear the stranger’s absence, so after he left her home for the fourth time she resolved to follow him in secret.
The night is cool but bright with the moon, and she follows the footsteps he leaves in the grey sand, she follows them to the murmuring of the shore, tracing her own path long forgotten beneath the moon.
She followed him to the beach where she had played as a child, and she saw him walk toward the water.
The ocean laps up to his knees, cold and whispering, up to his waist, up to his neck, and he walks softly on until she cannot see him beneath the waves, and she can only stand in wonder, the water stroking her feet.
She spent the night at the shore of her childhood, her fingers finding the sand she had neglected for years, and she waited until dawn for the young stranger’s return.
He comes with the sun and when his feet cross the threshold of the waterline she presses the shape she made into his palm.
When the girl’s father heard that the young stranger lived beneath the sea, he felt fear cold in his heart, for he realized that this young man must be the son of the Old Man Under the Sea, and as such his daughter would go to live beneath the waves.
He takes his daughter’s wrist with iron fingers and drags her into their home.
He imprisoned her in their house and forbade the marriage,
though she weeps
though she wept and begged,
though he knows that he cannot halt the changing of the tide,
though he knew that he could not stop such floods once they had started.
See now: the earth cracks and the ground flakes; lips chap and mouths dry as the grass withers.
But the springs of the fresh water that nourished the village dried as a result and no water flowed on the island but the girl’s salt tears.
And the villagers cry to the girl’s father with throats cracked with thirst.
And her father had no choice.
She ignores the eyes that follow her and with her head high walks down to the shore, easy as water running downhill.
Her father followed her to the waterline and he watched her join the son of the Old Man Under the Sea as they walked into the water, hand in hand,
and he watches the water close softly above their heads.
Time passed.
The sun rises
and sets
and rises
and sets, staining the sky,
the sand,
the water, and the tide flickers in and out upon the shore as her father walks to the waterline,
and with every step he is growing older,
For this is the way time passes.
But the girl did not forget her father, and she visited him every year for three years,
walking to him from the waterline, her arms open.
By the fourth year however, the sea had changed her, and she moved the way that the young stranger had when he came to her door years ago
and her father sees that his daughter is a woman of the sea now, with kelp growing in her dark hair
and he told her that she should no longer return to the land.
Her heart breaks within her; she knows that he is right.
So time passed
as time always passes,
and though the girl’s father died, his bones merging with the earth
she does not forget
she never forgot,
and every day she sends to the shore of her childhood
shapes in the sand of what she saw,
and what she dreams of,
gifts from the girl who married the son of the Old Man Under the Sea.
(Run "Shoplifting Seagull" video, added to the file that contains the slow motion balloon or run from YouTube, Seagull enters eating bag of chips.)
The Seagull - play at south end; need bench/book/snack item
(College aged woman sitting on a bench outside, reading a book with a bag of grapes by her side. She is reading studiously. A seagull lands on the edge of the bench. She may notice, but barely. The seagull preens himself idly, perhaps. The seagull moves closer. The woman looks up.)
MARGOT: Shoo! She waves him away. The seagull looks at her.
MARGOT: Shoo!
SEAGULL: Pardon? Maybe in French?
MARGOT: Go away.
SEAGULL: (not rudely) No thank you. Margot does a double take.
MARGOT: (tentatively) Yes.
SEAGULL: I’d rather not. Margot considers whether or not to put up a fight. She settles back into reading. Seagull inches closer and closer to the grapes, stretches out his neck to get one –
MARGOT: Hey!
SEAGULL: Oh, sorry! Those are yours?
MARGOT: Yeah… Who’s would they be?
SEAGULL: I don’t know, they looked lonely and forlorn.
MARGOT: Why would I be eating someone else’s grapes?
SEAGULL: You weren’t eating them. I thought they were up for grabs. My mistake.
MARGOT: Random food on bench – you would just go for that?
SEAGULL: Scavenging isn’t so bad.(do we potentially want to add something about his sensitivity here?)
MARGOT: Well, help yourself then. Seagull helps himself. Margot opens up her book again. Seagull is sitting uncomfortably close for a stranger on a long bench. (Frogman ducks behind the bench)
Woman(Annie) 1: (in spandex while taking a power walk in the park) did I tell you, I had the worst day possible yesterday.
Woman(Jacki) 2: oh no… what happened?
Woman 1: well, I had a leak in the shower, and I called a plumber to fix it. So this strange guy in a wet suit shows up, hands me a contract and goes to work on the shower.
Woman 2: ok…
Woman1: yeah, the strangest thing, he never said a single word. And three hours later I hear a gushing sound. And I go in to take a look, and the guy is just standing there under the shower doing nothing.
Woman 2: wow that’s odd.
Woman:1 Tell me about it, my shower went from a small leak to a gushing fountain.. and he’s just standing there. So I ask him to get the hell out of there.
Woman 2: I just hope you didn’t tip him.
Woman 1: oh no I did not.(they continue the walk)
(F-man re-emerges from the back of the bench where he was hiding.)
SEAGULL: These are really good. (He smiles at her. She keeps reading) What are you reading?
MARGOT: Chekhov.
SEAGULL: (lightbulb moment – really excited) The Seagull?
MARGOT: No, actually I read that a few days ago. (pause)You know about Chekhov?
SEAGULL: Of course. Depressing guy.
MARGOT: (little laugh) You know Chekhov.
SEAGULL: Is that why you’ve been depressed lately?
MARGOT: What?
SEAGULL: Oh, and that’s why you’re always alone – you have no time for friends because you are always reading Chekov. You’re Margot, right?
MARGOT: (confused) Yes, how do you know…
SEAGULL: I found this. (He pulls out a folded piece of notebook paper from under his wing.)
MARGOT: Oh, my gosh! This blew away a little bit ago! I was freaking out. (Awed) Thank you.
SEAGULL: You’re welcome.
MARGOT: How did you know it was mine?
SEAGULL: I’m very observant.
MARGOT: Guess so.
SEAGULL: Most seagulls are. Perched on a telephone pole or on the side of a roof for any length of time, a seagull can observe a lot.
MARGOT: Oh, ok, I thought for a sec that you had been following me around…(Seagull nods innocently so as to say “I have been following you around”) You…have been following me around. Observant like a stalker.
SEAGULL: (hurt) I’m not a stalker.
MARGOT: (taken aback by his sincerity) Ok, well, why have you been following me then? Don’t you have any gull friends? Gull friends! (Margot thinks this is pretty funny and is laughing. She looks at him expecting him to think it is funny)
SEAGULL: (coldly) Is that supposed to be a pun?
MARGOT: (of course) Yeah.
SEAGULL: That’s not funny.
MARGOT: (taken aback) That’s a rude thing to say.
SEAGULL: You were being inconsiderate…and puns are lame.
MARGOT: Oh, so I started it, and you’re the funny police, huh?
SEAGULL: That’s not what I said…but yes, that’s true too.
MARGOT: You’re the creep that started it by following me around. (Seagull deflates. His face is downcast, though of course he does not want to show how hurt he was by this)
SEAGULL: Well, I’ll just be flying off then. I can regurgitate those grapes for you, if you want them back…
MARGOT: Crap. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Thank you so much for getting my notes back to me. And you’re right, I’ve been kind of lonely lately, you’re actually the only one who’s noticed. No wonder, if I treat people – or birds – this way.
SEAGULL: I’ve been lonely too. My friends abandoned me.
MARGOT: That’s horrible. What happened?
SEAGULL: I’m not cool enough for them. I…ok, the other day, I went to land on this railing, and…I kind of missed. I caught myself, but then as I started walking along it, I slipped again.
MARGOT: And now the other birds won’t be your friends?
SEAGULL: They’ve gone fishing and scavenging with other gulls lately.
MARGOT: That’s horrible, that’s so shallow. I’m sorry…(she wants to say his name but realizes she doesn’t know it). Wait, I don’t know your name!
SEAGULL: It’s Simon.
MARGOT: Simon. Nice to meet you.
SEAGULL: You too.
MARGOT: Well, I’ve gotta go…
SEAGULL: I hope I didn’t distract you too much…
MARGOT: Oh no, no worries. I hope I’ll keep seeing you around.
SEAGULL: Yeah, me too. Do you mind if…(he indicates that he would like to eat the rest of the grapes)
MARGOT: They’re all yours.
Song: Wade in the Water
The Funeral of Dr. Charles - Men's Room
(Frogman and Seagull leads procession; the fish is somewhere in Jones 203; perhaps in a little fish coffin floating in the pond surrounded by candles; carry candles from "Sea-Being" and from multi-media table and other lights; a procession of lights -- head light; book lights; small flashlights; cell phone lights -- to Dr. Charles as in funeral procession; sing down the hall; split group into two sections)
(The scene opens with a couple of rows of a variety of stuffed animals, action figures and other similar items sitting and facing the same direction as if waiting for something. Sam enters carrying a shoebox and walks very somberly until he reaches the crowd of toys and turns to face them. He sets down the box and pulls out a couple of note cards that he had had stashed away in his pocket. As he clears his throat, Jen enters from the right as if she had been looking for him and then stops as he begins to speak.)
Sam: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…no, wait, that doesn’t sound right. Uh…okay, how about: Dear members of my room, we are gathered here today to remember a great friend and confidant. He was smart, funny and extremely brave. He was a true friend and always ready to lend a helping hand...uh, fin. He understood everyone and was a friend to all. Today we say goodbye to Dr. Charles Thadeus Theodore James Roosevelt the first, Esq.
Jen: You mean your goldfish?
Sam: Yeah. But he was so much more than that.
Jen: Oh. Well, I just wanted to let you know that your mom and dad wanted to say goodbye before they leave for their dinner party.
Sam: Okay. Could you just give me a moment?
Jen: Sure. Pauses. Umm…is there anything that I can do?
Sam: Nodding towards the box. Well, would you like to say a few words about the good doctor?
Jen: I’m afraid that I didn’t know him very well.
Sam: Oh. That’s okay then. Jen turns to leave, takes a few steps and then turns back around to watch a bit more of the service.
Sam: Because the good doctor was such a gallant and brave seafaring individual, I thought it best for us to give him a burial at sea. Jen looks surprised and takes a step forward.
Jen: Sam? What exactly do you mean by “burial at sea”?
Sam: Well, I thought that since he was such an important guy, that I could really send him off in style. He was my best friend and I’m going to miss him a lot. We really shared a bond. There’ll never be anyone that will listen to me the way that the good doctor did. Paues. Are you sure you don’t want to say anything?
Jen thinks a moment.
Jen: I’ll be right back. Jen exits back into the house and returns a moment later with an orange square piece of paper and begins to fold it.
Sam: What are you doing?
Jen: You’ll see.
Sam: Well, Dr. Charles, it looks like this is goodbye. Holds Dr.Charles up to ear. What’s that? Where are you going? Hmm…well, let’s just say that you’re going to that big ocean up in the sky, er…well, you know what I mean.
Jen continues to fold until finally she finishes and smiles to herself.
Jen: There you go.
As Jen hands Sam the object, a genuine smile spreads over Sam’s face as he discovers that what Jen has made is an origami fish.
Sam: Wow! It looks just like him!
Jen: That way, you’ll always kind of have a part of him with you.
Sam: Thanks.
Jen: Any time. By the way, how did good old Dr. Chuck die anyways?
Sam: Umm…well, I wanted to give him a bath.
Jen: What do you mean? He lives in the water.
Sam: Yeah, I know. But the water was getting all dirty and I wanted to clean it and I wanted to show mom and dad that I could do it on my own so I just dropped a little bit of the soap that mom keeps in the kitchen into the water.
Jen: Oh…
Sam: Yeah, he died because he was just too clean! Now maybe mom will believe me when I don’t want to take a bath. Pause. Now do you want to say a few words?
Jen: Sure, why not? Jen bends down to pick up the box and then clears her throat. Dr. Charles Thadeus Theodore James Roosevelt the first-
Sam: You forgot esquire?
Jen: What?
Sam: His full name was Dr. Charles Thadeus Theodore James Roosevelt the first, esq.
Jen: Oh, right. Sorry. Clears throat and tries again. Dr. Charles Thadeus Theodore James Roosevelt the first, esq. was a fine fish. In fact, the best fish that I’ve ever known. He is survived by his best friend, Sam and Sam’s babysitter Jen. He was a good fish who would follow your finger down the side of the bowl and would always eat what was given to him, even if we accidentally put too much food in. He will be missed. And may he enjoy his burial at sea.
(With that, Jen hands the box to Sam who looks at it sadly. The two turn and walk off. Once they are completely off, we here the sound of a toilet flushing.)
At same time as "Funeral" - "Kickboards" and "A Second Visit"
Kickboards
My older sister Amy and I used to take swimming lessons down at the Jewish Community Center. I started when I was really young, maybe four or five. My favorite part, I remember, was the last ten minutes of class when we were allowed to put the kickboards away. Kickboards were okay, don’t get me wrong, but after half an hour of swimming back and forth, competing for bigger splashes than everyone else. But to get rid of those boards and float around free of everything, that was my first real taste of freedom.
Then when I was older, Amy and I would do circus tricks in the water. We would spend entire weekends in the community pool rehearsing them. Stuff that looked really elaborate and hard, but we knew how to abuse that buoyancy, and we would add a flourish or two and take a bow. It was glorious.
But anyway, the classes were great. And at that time my parents were signing me up for a hundred different things a week. Piano lessons were a let down, horseback riding sucked, Girl Scouts failed. But swimming was nice. Those others classes just weren’t for me; I always felt calmer in the water. Even though Amy dropped me more times than not, and I can’t even count how many gallons of chlorine I choked down over the years, I could always handle it. It was always better than soccer practice, anyway. Just something about me and Amy defying the laws of gravity in that community pool, and that we went together every weekend…no way could a kid get that experience from rollerblading lessons.
Well Amy’s kid is turning six next week, and he is hating his karate classes. For his gift, I got him a kickboard. I think it is a good place to start…
A Second Visit
Tossing around in the back seat en-route to the BHEL (Bahrat Heavy Electricals Ltd.) plant in the city of Haridwar, all I could think of was-- how cold the water from the under ground tube well felt last night. The water in the irrigation pool was an incredible relief from the hundred degree heat during the night. Bharat Heavy electricals ltd. specialized in hydro electrical power generation. My cousin needed to be there to file his tenders for a job order; and then we would be free to adventure around Haridwar and Hrishikesh. The two cities are arguably the most sacred sites for Hindu pilgrims, as they are located on the banks of the river Ganges.
The only reason I was sitting on this long drive under the blast of the air conditioner, severely hung over, at 5 a.m. was the magnetic energy of that river. A couple of years ago I had spent a month, in and on the river. We camped on the white sandy beaches and rafted everyday. I loved-- just floating with the steady current and was entranced by the Ganga, just like the rest of the country. But I was not prepared for what I was going to walk into.
The BHEL meeting went by quick, three glasses of orange juice and a few glasses of cooler water later my head felt better. All I could think of was that emerald green water and how good it would feel to take a dip; escape the heat and purge all my sins at the same time.
This was my first visit to Haridwar and I realized that it was a large crowded city as compared to the small gathering that Hrishikesh was. It was 125 degrees Fahrenheit, with every very square inch of land being walked on by the hordes of people. We had to leave the car a certain distance away and walk in barricaded lanes, herded like cattle by the Uttranchal police. The constables looked like new recruits, tired and given possibly the worst job. They stood there all day wielding a large stick in the heat hoping that nothing would go wrong. If it did, there would be little they could do to control the stampede that would ensue.
We flooded out of the barricades into the market lanes, meters before the river bank. Vendors offered refreshing glasses of water to relieve the people, but I could not get myself to trust the purity of it. I was going to take a dip in the river I had pretty much lived in for a month, and now I dare not drink that that glass of water offered to me by someone in good faith. I was now parched in the throat, wearing a sweat drenched shirt, hopping over an open drain in the street when I finally caught a sight of the river. It was a moment of realization for me that the pristine emerald green was only a phenomenon of spring, many kilometers up river. By this point of the summer the river was running at the danger level carrying tomes of silt downstream with a fierce rage. The brave held on to the chains on the banks of the river and risked their lives with the current for a dip. I was content to dip my hand in and walk away, sweaty and sinful.
Water Jam #1 - Stairwell
PUDDLE JUMPING - Moving outside; need small pool of water for a puddle
I used to jump in puddles a lot when I was a kid. (We see the puddle jumper in the distance, pulling on her slicker then skipping down the sidewalk.) As soon as those thick, mushy clouds started rolling in, swallowing up all the sunshine and pummeling the dirt into soggy mud, I pulled on my duck boots and my yellow rain slicker and went out to find the biggest, deepest, meanest puddle in the neighborhood. (She approaches the puddle.) I walked right up to the edge of the puddle, squared my shoulders and looked him right in the eye. And he stared back at me with a steely glint in his eye and said (Narrator speaking directly to the Puddle Jumper.) “Come on, shortstack. You ain’t got a chance”. (Puddle Jumpers begins to back-up for run at puddle.) I just chuckled as I walked slowly backward, never breaking eye contact. I let him think I’m backing off (Puddle Jumper turns back on puddle for a moment.), but really I’m just setting up the approach. Without warning, I take off at a sprint and come pounding down the road toward that puddle (Puddle Jumper begins to run in slow mo toward the puddle.) and then I leap high into the air, my duck boots sprouting wings beneath my feet and pushing me into the clouds. I hang there like a giant albatross stalking his prey and then I pounce on that puddle with all the ferocity and pure animalistic power of a hunting pelican. (Puddle Jumper lands in water.) I land with a resounding crash followed by a concussive explosion as sheets of water spread outward in a mushroom cloud of doom. And as the gory remains of my former adversary come splashing down to earth, I let out a blood-curdling cry of victory and punch my fist into the air. (Puddle Jumper splashes around in a puddle dance of immense proportions.) But this is just one small skirmish and there are many more enemies out there waiting to be bested in honorable combat. I must not disappoint them. (Puddle Jumper goes in pursuit of more puddles, heading in the direction of the next scene.)
EARTH/WATER LECTURE/MOVEMENT - in the middle of the ellipse
THE POET (Peter)
Before there was earth,
or sea,
or the sky that covers everything,
Nature appeared the same throughout the whole world:
a unified chaos,
the tangled embryo of all things in one place.
For though there was land and sea and air,
it was unstable land,
unswimmable water,
air lacking light.
Nothing retained its shape,
because in the one body that was the germ of all things,
cold fought with heat,
moist with dry,
soft with hard,
and weight with weightless things.
This conflict was ended by a greater order of nature.
It split off the earth from the sky,
and the sea from the land,
and divided the transparent heavens from the dense air.
When it had disentangled the elements and freed them from chaos,
it fixed them in separate spaces with clarity and order.
Earth,
heavier than either fire or air,
drew down the largest elements, and was compressed by its own weight.
The surrounding water took up the last space and enclosed the solid world.
When whichever god it was had so ordered the mass and collected it into separate parts,
it first gathered the earth into a great ball so that it was uniform on all sides.
Then it ordered the seas to spread and to rise in waves,
and to pour around the coasts of the encircled land.
It added springs
and standing pools
and lakes,
and contained in terraced banks the widely separated rivers,
some of which are swallowed by the earth itself,
others of which reach the sea and,
in entering the expanse of open waters,
beat against shores instead of riverbanks.
THE GEOLOGIST (Megan K.)
Before there was earth, or sea, or the sky that covers everything, Nature appeared the same throughout the whole world: a unified chaos, the tangled embryo of all things in one place. For though there was land and sea and air, it was unstable land, unswimmable water, air lacking light. Nothing retained its shape, because in the one body that was the germ of all things, cold fought with heat, moist with dry, soft with hard, and weight with weightless things.
This conflict was ended by a greater order of nature. It split off the earth from the sky, and the sea from the land, and divided the transparent heavens from the dense air. When it had disentangled the elements and freed them from chaos, it fixed them in separate spaces with clarity and order. Earth, heavier than either light or air, drew down the largest elements and was compressed by its own weight. The surrounding water took up the last space and enclosed the solid world.
When whichever god it was had so ordered and divided the mass, and collected it into separate parts, it first gathered the earth into a great ball so that it was uniform on all sides. Then it ordered the seas to spread and to rise in waves, and to pour around the coasts of the encircled land. It added springs and standing pools and lakes, and contained in terraced banks the widely separated rivers, some of which are swallowed by the earth itself, others of which reach the sea and, in entering the expanse of open waters, beat against shores instead of riverbanks.
The Puget Sound is a large estuary in which the saltwater from the Pacific Ocean mixes with the fresh water from the Olympic and Cascade mountains. This water fills a system of four interconnected valleys that were partially formed by the seismic activity of the area. This part of the Pacific Northwest rests upon a tectonic rift, where several small fragments of the tectonic plate carrying the Pacific Ocean are forced under the plate that carries North America. As the smaller plates slide beneath the North American plate, they revert to liquid magma in a process known as subduction, which contributes to the depth of the valleys that make up the Sound.
Besides the influences from the subduction zone, the Sound was shaped by glaciers that carved into the earth, resulting not only in the valleys but in the fresh soil that surrounds the Sound. These glaciers came from the Cordilleran Ice Sheet, which at the last glacial maximum covered over two and a half million square kilometers, encompassing most of the Pacific Northwest. It merged at its eastern end with the Laurentide Ice Sheet at the Continental Divide, forming an area of ice that contained one and a half times as much water as the Antarctic ice sheet does today.
Unlike many of the other ice sheets covering North American during the Ice Age, the Cordilleran Ice Sheet melted rather quickly, with all of the ice melting in less than four thousand years. Because of this, the land of the area reacted in what is called post-glacial rebound: the ground that had been pressed down by the weight of the ice rose in elevation once that weight was removed. Because the earth that now forms the bed of the Puget Sound rose at a different rate than the post-Ice Age rise in sea levels, fresh water and salt water filled the glacial valleys alternately, resulting in the unique blend of waters that currently fills the Puget Sound and sustains the life there.
Water Free-Speak - process to theatre basement lead by Earth/Water dancers; hot cider in Green Room; candles to make-up room; split audience again
Birth is wet.
The one thing we know about birth – from the outside perspective – is that it’s wet and messy. From that dark and cozy messy wetness I was born – wet woman or wet man, to live forever two-thirds the same. As solid as my skin-bones feel, it’s moisture I proclaim; if wetness is my mother’s womb, then I am always two-thirds there.
In the maiden stage, as I progress, my water enters into stage two: the moisture runs its life-giving force as young women, young men engage in intercourse. That wet vignette of liquid and sweat can try to avert but will never leave its route – without which life would end.
And does, and then- moisture creeps back in my skin, my bones, running full circle- surface suffocated by wet and worms and decomposition takes back my molecules that were never really mine and time and wetness returns me to the place we all began- the Dark and the Wet.
That moisture that swam in my mama’s womb is the moisture that I drink-consume and wet is my own juice-with its sweet perfume, and wet will my body be when I am entombed I assume that my life is one sonic boom that started in water and ends in doom and Water runs through me and sings its tune, its life-
From the primordial waters all life began, my life- my waters, nothing less than your life, you’re-
And at that cocksure juncture of moisture and heat, life is allured into existence and assured somehow and thus it goes – birth is wet, and life is messy, and death is just the same
INTERMISSION: HOT APPLE CIDER
