Orange 2

On a turquoise inner screen an image appears. It’s a piece of white A4 paper suspended by some invisible power in mid-air about 10ft in front of me, head height. The contents of the page are also invisible to me. I see only the blank side. It was as if the wind were holding the piece of paper aloft, perfectly still. The wind starts to blow gently and ruffle the page, crinkling it slightly. I hear the paper gently rustle, see it curl at the edges. Yet it remains in mid-air before me. And then very slowly it emerges that an angel has materialised and he is holding the piece of paper by the fingertips at the top and bottom- like a herald messenger in a play grasping his script. He is very tall, dressed in a long, pale blue-white gown. His name is Raeonis. I know this because I first met him as a boy. He used to stand over my bed as I drifted off to sleep at night- and here he is again, his glowing face saturated with a blend of ardent gratitude that I should remember him and that I can see him again, glowing with a perfect and intense love.

He glances down again at that paper. He radiates a deep empathetic connection with whatever is written there, which only he sees right now. I sense from his expression he is deeply moved, but without my understanding why. However I am aware as he eventually looks up again that whatever is on this page relates specifically to me. His look tells me this. And it is either written by me, by him or someone else- (God??)- about me. It is my worth, my formula, the key to my soul. This angel connects up with my inner being- a deep, deep connection that pierces my heart like a laser beam, an X-Ray. I somehow know that he is cherishing that of God within me. He sees my own capacity for love, and it’s as if that is all he sees in me. I can feel my heart expanding to a huge size while he does this inner search of my heart, confirming what he has seen on the paper. He can perceive the goodness and highest potential for goodness within me. His green eyes communicate rays of clear and lucid insight, reaching into the deepest recesses of the dark measureless caverns of my heart. He values me unreservedly, for all my unexploited potential, and my striving for the realisation of purpose all my life. He is my Guide, my Guardian Angel I guess, and he passionately craves me to fulfil and manifest that which has hitherto remained unexpressed in my life, due to oh so many self-limiting factors (My laziness for example, my low self-esteem, my negative emotions, my impatience, my settling for convenient second-best, blah blah blah.) He has continued to believe in me though, despite everything, holding me in his secure embrace as he always has through the years, awaiting my hidden purpose to come alive and to fruition. And right now we both know that that time is very near.

He is smiling gently, and I instantly feel hot tears coursing down my face.

I desire more than anything else to know what is on the sheet of paper. I’m burning with curiosity in fact. Without either of us speaking he checks with me that I might not prefer to wait. He needs me to be sure that I will understand and be reconciled with whatever is revealed by its contents. [“Be ready to act on its message,”] he seems to say. I swallow, I gather myself and I breathe. And then I nod my assent. Very slowly Raeonis begins to turn the page, and then he pauses like they do in films whenever something monumental is about to happen and the audience are on the edge of their seats dying to know what’ll happens next (I hate it when they do that!). He looks down again at what is on the page. Tears are streaming down his cheeks. He knows my life is about to change. This is pivotal. There’ll be no going back. I breathe in deeply; he gathers himself. Slowing he turns the page to face me.

It shows a cartoon of a vivid orange-fruit surrounded by light! (???) Below it are some handwritten words in black ink that are too far away right now for me to be able to read. The angel peers into me with a silent earnestness, a penetrating look of loving inquisitiveness that asks, [“Well…? You understand this, don’t you?”]. I’m not at all sure I do. I am trembling. I frame and think the question, “Is it good news?” He smiles, and chuckles in relief. [“Yes, Mark. Oh yes! Good news!”]; and then a sobbing-laughter erupts from his face, tears streaming, brimming over with joyful compassion. I know then that this picture represents my own heart’s joy, my soul’s purpose, a cipher for my unique, inimitable gift to the Universe. I also know I might be more over-awed if I understood what the hell it meant! Or indeed what the words were.

And as if in response to this thought the black lettering starts to move and lift off the page. The words are floating on the air towards me- drifting on the soft breeze so I can read them. A baritone voice (Raeonis’?) announces the title in a calm and measured timbre-

“Acting in the Light”

and as the phrases on the page swim toward me this same voice recites the following words with perfect articulation and a deep resonant quality. It’s in a mid-west American accent, I think, almost like a film trailer voice. “Well, this is a bit naff!” I can’t help thinking! No matter, this is important. Pay attention.


“Clear a space, Mark…”


“What is your FELT SENSE now?”

“Get a handle…”

“Resonate…”



“ASK what this needs…”


“Wait…
…Receive.”

I know these to be the tools and instructions for Connecting. Only connect! Huh! The idea occurs to me that they must be the chapter headings for a book I must write about acting, as well as the basis for teaching the art of acting to my students. My thinking self is immediately on the alert, the defensive, intinctively resistant to this. I can feel myself already framing excuses to avoid applying any of this. I’m not sure I am qualified to write this book, still less make others understand the way to apply any of this. {“A book??? Must I? Do I really have to? I don’t know enough about how to explain this stuff yet.”] I recognise these handwritten phrases as being identical to Gene Gendlin’ six abbreviated instructions for Focusing. But no, Raeonis is quick to assure me that these are the personal access codes for my creative flow, as well as for extending my help to other actors and their processes too.

Pause. Assimilate this. Breathe this in.

It’s at this moment I then hear the orange image on the paper speak to me (!), as if in response to my doubts
It’s a female voice this time. An orange is speaking to me! It says

“Synaesthesia”.

What?!

Just that. Synaesthesia.

Then silence.

And then it clicks… An influx of abundant light, and a shift into an extremely high vibration.

I immediately know this to be the formula for my future creative life, encapsulated in this single concept:

“Synaesthesia”!

Of course! Of course!!!!

SYNAESTHESIA!

It’s a huge Aha! moment for me, something so bleeding obvious, something I have always known but never really been able to articulate before. Of course. OF COURSE. I can feel synapses wiring up and connecting all over my brain. Instant flow.

I know this strange word. Synaesthesia. It describes a medical condition that allows a person to appreciate sounds, colours or words with two or more senses simultaneously. I hear the echoing sound of Michael Chekhov’s voice yelling with glee in the misty blue distance, “Yes!”, [“…Yes!”] and instantly I understand how as a synaesthete he must have known experientially that colours, words, music, architecture and textures are all gestures. He was an genius because he allowed this undiagnosed condition of his to cross-fertilise his sensory experiences of the world through his instinctive sense of PGs inherent in all forms of organic and inorganic life, seen and unseen!

“The unifying principle of synaesthesia is available to all, but is most developed in the people like you, the Artist,” Raeonis instructs me.

Raeonis goes on to tell me he will be with me to assist in drawing together all the many strands of my experience in the fields of acting, directing, writing, teaching etc. I just need to be cool, calm and patient. It will all begin to make sense, and with his help, if I am willing to let him come and work alongside me. It’s a unifying theory that is being revealed to me now; it is like the idea of synaesthesia, he claims…

[“All great art is founded on and guided by this very same principle.”]

And now all of a sudden I am awakened to a deep inner knowing of what this picture of the orange he is holding really is. It is now shimmering. And as it shimmers I start to glow, to irradiate. It goes beyond- way, way beyond- mere understanding, or even empathy or even compassion… No, this orange is me: I am the orange. I know this in my solar plexus, I feel it in my ideal centre. I clutch its cold smell, feel its music lifting me, hear its colours, see its sharp, tangy flavour. (I am salivating now as I open up my arms and become the orange in a sort of lame, but embracing Psychological Gesture!!). Raeonis and I are laughing together now. The colour of the picture has become incredibly vivid. It glows. I hear the drawing’s high hum, and as I do it is like a irresistible harmonic vibration connects me and merges me with it. It lifts off the A4 sheet and is whooshing toward me. All the spoken and the written phrases that have been wafted in the breeze come flooding in towards me too, magnetised by my heart, and melt inside me, absorbed through my skin and into my internal organs. And if I can be this orange…? I can be anything. Anyone. My God, what power.

All of this has the effect of intricate choral harmony, and I stand there shivering with the delight of this, a mysterious and exquisite sense of unity, power and congruence. Flow. Outer and the Inner: Inner and Outer.

“Me, Orange.”, I say aloud, as if stating my name, and then can’t help laughing because it seems so ridiculous when said like this! But still I know it to be true.

I rest in this knowledge for a while. Then I begin to be aware of something else. Raeonis has been standing in front of me, standing in front of me, waiting for me, waiting for me to assimilate all that has happened up till now . There's more. I need only ask, he seems to say, and he will unveil further truths when we feel I am ready to bear them.

I feel so strong, so very awake, and so I say…

[“Bring it on! Let’s do it. I’m ready! Now...! Now!!!”].

He smiles.


Part 2 to follow.