Behind the Scene

While watching a movie, I noticed a clash of worlds in many scenes. One world was the movie's creation, that symphony of suggestions which is the magic of theatre to shield the mind from reality, allowing its escape into make-believe. The other was the real world itself, present in the reality of people behind this illusion, like hands that guide a marionette's barely visible strings.

For example, there in front of me was the unlikely heroin in a moment of choice, pressed to a decision by the hero's kindly influence. But there, too, in the same heroin, was a young woman adeptly working her trade—age unknown, appearing very much younger than she probably is, a person of typical temperaments and humors, bringing life to an image. And within me, along side the story line, was an almost childlike curiosity: Who, how, and what is she in her ordinary life, buying groceries, tripping over that shoe left out in the entry, looking undecidedly into the cupboard, calling her mom to say hello, or a thousand other fragmentary encounters? Likewise the hero: what expressions does this screen face have off screen, when his girlfriend meets him at the airport, when a print-out stands between him and an urgent meeting just as the printer jams, or when he stands in the presence of something holy? Who are these people who are not before my eyes, weaving wonderful life-like scenes in my mind?

And what is this way of watching play that is immune to illusion? Has my soul changed over time from ready resignation to amused observation? Or with age has reality become something more familiar, and therefore more securely embraced? No doubt the years have something to say, whatever it is.