Heart Song

Some people from my church had me over for dinner earlier this evening.  It was the first time I was able to articulate my dilemma regarding the Writer’s Block in such a way that I was absolutely certain that they understood what I was talking about.   I don’t know if anybody reading this has issues with feeling misunderstood.  If you are, then you know how it feels.  It’s not love we look for.  It’s not even respect.  It’s understanding.  We love those who understand us – and we don’t feel “loved” when they don’t.

So it was a blessing to be able to discuss the matter in “real time” and get some insightful feedback other than the superfluous:

Get over it.

F–k him.

Take a Xanax.

So I came home, opened my script at random, and read these words:

WINSTON:
Perhaps an example will clarify.

#9: Monologue and Song: “Heart Song”

There was a certain charismatic figure who dwelt in the realm.
He had a charming smile,
a compelling style,
and hypnotic, dark green eyes.
His academic lectures and topical orations
received standing-room-only standing-ovations.
His musical concerts were roundly applauded,
his literary works acclaimed and belauded,
his products and services widely promoted,
his slogans and sayings repeatedly quoted,
round and round the realm.

TAURA:
That sounds like you, Winston!

ZYOWELLE:
Sssshhh!!

WINSTON:
But the more he gained in influence and clout,
the more the ruler of the realm felt threatened,
so he sent out a number of clandestine scouts,
to glean information as to what, after all,
this most mysterious figure was really and truly about.

And yet, all the while, in his secret spot of sacred seclusion,
the vibrant visionary kept valiant vigil,
and carefully crafted a culture of the future,
where no one would reign,
nor would any be ruled,
and no stigma remain,
for all would be schooled,
and taught to be equal in all the essentials –
not equal in power, or wealth, or credentials –
but equal in something far more germane;
that is to say, equal in rights.

So upon the completion of his grand design,
the famous folk figure then issued his claim,
arranging to meet with the ruler by night,
and to kindly submit without conflict or fight,
the plan for the realm that would set things aright –
but how he was shocked to encounter disaster!

For just as he ran up to greet that staunch master
Did handcuffs and clamps have him brutally bound,
And bayonets aimed at his heart bid him pause,
As the ruler declared: “How dare you defy the divine book of laws!
Down you must go to the depths of the Earth
Where you’ll learn not to doubt the full scope of my worth!”

But as our friend fell,
through all of that hell,
he still dared to gaze
at that hoarder of praise,
And left with the monarch a song to his shame,
that no measure of might could contest or defame,
for the plan he had crafted
would later be drafted,
to the glory and honor of the human name:
in a world where not one will look down on another;
in a world where we all will be sister and brother –
And destined to sing in one voice and accord
Before all who have called themselves Master or Lord –
In a resonant blast,
in a chorus resounding
beneath the most luminous, shining dark sky
On that night, when at last
freedom shall be abounding,
On that night, Man and God shall be equally high!!

The underscore brightens into accompaniment for Winston, as he now begins to sing.

Progress has been made.  I did not go into a rage this time.  I merely continue to be baffled.  Could these be the “over the top political references that get in the way of the story?”

Heart Song Monologue
from  Eden in Babylon
Copyright © 2016 by Andrew Michael Pope
All Rights Reserved

2 thoughts on “Heart Song

  1. Very well said. It truly is understanding that we seek. I was just thinking along these lines last night, how misunderstood I feel, which then makes me feel extremely disconnected from the world.

    Like

  2. Being misunderstood is one of the worst feelings. I often never know if it’s because of my own failure to communicate clearly, or their own lack of being able to understand where I’m coming from. Usually it’s a combination of both. I think the most frustrating thing about it is when it’s clear that a person is treating me according to a stigmatic preconception as to who I am. To paraphrase Erving Goffman in his definition of social stigma, “perception spoils identity” in such cases. They perceive me according to a certain class of people to which they believe I belong, and in so doing overlook the individual whom I am.

    Like

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