Dreams

    Over the past few weeks, I've become determined to make my living as a actor as much as possible.  While one doesn't just wake up on a Monday morning with a clear plan -- and the means -- to do this, one can become single minded, focused, and determined.

    That's where I've started -- I do need to earn money somehow, but I won't allow that need to distract from what I need and want to do . . . the money I'll earn from non-theatrical/non-commercial work will support (not distract from) training, classes, time for rehearsal, and time to take advantage of those opportunities that will move me forward. I'm still working out the "how," but I'm determined that I will do it.

    This morning, I had a dream.  I needed to print something on a printer at work, but I didn't know exactly what it was suppose to be, I just knew I had to print it out, but the first batch of paper I used wouldn't work: they jammed the printer (the box was water damaged, so too was the paper).  So I set about finding different paper, and I found a clean, new box, and opened it, but the paper inside was already covered with columns, words, numbers, like a tax return -- numbers and columns and logical thinking, exactly the things that confuse me most and that send me running from the room.  However, it was all I had. 

    I thought, whatever it was I needed to print, it would either never show up or it would be complete obscured by all this confusing stuff that drives me crazy.  

    But the paper was of excellent stock, and I noticed how pure and clean the paper itself seemed to be, so -- for reasons I don't recall -- I put the paper in the feeder and started the printer.  I don't remember what made me do this.

    After a while, what I needed to print started to come out, and . . . I thought I must be losing my mind: first, on the paper was not laser print but an expressionistic painting (real paint!); second, I couldn't see any of the original print on the paper. It was like I put in clean paper.  I thought I was going crazy for a second because I was sure the paper I was using had already been used, but then I looked closer, and sure enough -- there it still was, underneath the painting, faded, barely visible; it was there, but you had to look close to find it.

    It was a beautiful painting.  It was a miracle.