The Fallen Angel

Photo credit: www.overdrive.com and www.scoop.it
Memory tag: Being part of the play Michael.

It should have been the best of times, but it came very close to being the worst. The tenth anniversary celebrations would have been an occasion to remember. Instead we were fire fighting to save not only ourselves but what he had built up. A dream, a reality, that that threatened to die a premature death because the dreamer had been crucified. Who was he, criminal or savior? If we are not talking clones, then we can probably settle for  a mixture, in the absence of any clear cut analytical results Either way , the show must go on, for once created, the creation has a life cycle of its own, independent of its creator.

Cold winter night rehearsals, warmed by hot tea in jerry cans, and savory papadums to crunch. The off stage players are paint bespattered, creating a home that has seen better days; the director is hurling directions to actors, light men and prop managers. The costume designers are valiantly trying to weave gold out of straw. 
 The play was strangely apocryphal. An angel is banished for disobeying god. He will be allowed to return to earth when he finds answers to three questions. 'What dwells in man? What is not given to man? And, 'what do men live by?' The answer to the first is love, that he finds when he is given shelter by a family. The second answer he finds when a nobleman arrogantly orders shoes he whishes to wear for a year and dies minutes after. It is thus not given to man to know his own needs. The answer to the third is also love, when he sees orphaned infants nurtured by foster parents, even when the parents have lost their own child.

This is dramatized version of the Leo Tolstoy play," What Men Live By", adapted for stage by Miles Malleson. The stage version called, Michael ',is superbly crafted with a simple but poignant storyline that captivates the audience to the last. I remember the actors in the play, the have grown to manhood since. A relic remains with me. An old rectangular wooden stool, used by the fallen angel in the play, to craft shoes of a rare fit. I have always wanted to etch the names and memories of that play and make it into a theatrical relic. But it remains as it is, part of my everyday life. Can anything be more theatrical than life itself? Actor or spectator, is a choice we all make and live inevitably or bring joy to the world as only He can.