Driving home last night, I thought back through our first technical rehearsal, about the whole process that had brought us this far, and forward to our upcoming performances.
Blocking. Choreography. Lights. Props. Costumes. Publicity. Notes I needed to give. Notes I’d never given. Opportunities I’d perhaps missed. Things I’d have done differently. Problems I had yet to solve.
As I navigated dark country roads, I kept noticing the constellation Orion just on the horizon.
And my thoughts would shift to stars, myths, legends, vague memories.
Trying to recall Orion’s story, I realized I’d lost my sense of direction. I know this is silly, but for a moment I wasn’t sure if he was rising in the East — leaping up towards the constellation Taurus — or setting in the West in retreat from the ferocious bull.
Was the valiant warrior winning the battle? Or losing?
As I drove further into the countryside I could only find Orion’s shoulders above the looming treetops. Two stars in a narrow swath of sky.
It takes two points to make a line. Just two.
Suddenly any question of advance or retreat became irrelevant.
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