i walked in to Ruth Zaporah's office last night after class - you left the room and waited for me outside. For some reason, i was drenched and dripping wet and naked - i knew i was naked and wet and exposed, but i didn't care.
I approached her and she gave me an envelope which had hand-writing on it - 'christian'. It was a nab envelope, the same one which Tim hands me my pay in.
I told Ruth that i love dancing and performing and creating, and that i think i could have made a life from performing, creating, being an artist. Or even been an 'action theatre' teacher, but that it's not my career anymore. And i told her i'm happy with my career choice, it was not a slander on being a psychologist, but a mourning of the death of a life i had imagined for myself. Being an artist, performing. I was telling Ruth, because she is the greatest source of feedback i have ever got from the universe which has encouraged me to keep going. I don't think anyone with such credibility has ever been so enthused and by what i have to creatively offer.
'A, What age are you?'
'26'
'that's a good age to be starting this...'
I was sad in my dream that someone who i admired and had admired me so much had grown disinterested me. When i was young i always imagined myself living as an artist, a performer, overseas in some wonderful part of the world, doing wonderful things.
The skin on Ruth's face fell limp, my heart did the same and sank to the bottom of the ocean in my chest and hit the ocean floor with a resounding thud which revberberated through my consciousness and woke me up.
'Anthony,
Jump off.
Learn to fly on the way down.
Love Ruth.'
