Planning: One Flew Under the Bodhi Tree.

Bodhi Tree Hawaii

I was never a nature girl. Camping meant sharing a sleeping bed with rocks and dirt and bugs and aren't we told to watch out for those bed bugs? But my time in the ashram has changed me. This all started the night under the Bodhi tree.

Imagine the largest tree you have ever seen. One that you know can't be cut down, nor should it. Here the lion can sleep with the lamb, and I can rest with the ants. Despite there being various birds and creatures cluttering the branches and the sighting of roots, there are no droppings. Not in the dirt, not on the leaves. Which, frankly, made for a more comfortable me.

My friend, Grace, she's begun the sacred practice under neath the Bodhi tree. Her lineage is pure and she's been chosen by the lama, and in return given a Yidam. This Yidam is her guide through the deep meditation. I, on the other hand, have not been blessed with a Yidam. Grace, if you can recall, is a shining light in this world. When I met her she guided me here, to this ashram, to the Bodhi tree. I'm just learning, only just learning, what it means to turn on the light or seek a flame. Before, I wouldn't have been okay with this. Never. Competition is key.... was key. I was the star of the track team, an aggressive, ambitious leader in the buisness field. To not be chosen for anything? Impossible.

But, my time under the Bodhi tree has taught me to breath deeply into the ground. Root myself to the world and touch the waters of deep, deep knowledge. To drink in purity and exhale doubt, aggression, and disease. When I learned that I wasn't ready, I knew in my heart it was true, fighting it would only keep my soul trapped in the dark I so desperately attempted to hide inside. When I breathed in, "Okay" I exhaled, "Why not?" Releasing the negativity of my mindset, I felt the light from deep within warm.

I sit here, underneath the Bodhi tree everyday. For maybe twenty minutes, for maybe an hour. Grace comes nearly all day. I swear, when I look at her, she is a flame. A flame of knowledge and life and stories and other lives far beyond this one. She is a Goddess, full of flame.



AUTHOR'S NOTE:
So, this is kind of both planning and an actual story. This is going to be a type of conclusion to my storybook (heh, sorry spoilers!)
My goal was to help bring Savanna back to the Universe, and I used the story The Banished Girls, in which the sister returns to the Goddess at the end. I love the character Grace, she's wonderful. SO I'm looking at drawing the parallel there!


WEBSITE:
http://www.wisdom-tree.com

Storytelling, The Round Table

MOM

BEN 

INT:  Kitchen.

The interior furniture and appliances are all white, the counter tops are cut from a fine granite. There is an island center stage, this island contains the sink which is perfectly centered. To the left of the sink is a dish drying rack. To the right is a container used to organize silverware. Downstage left corner there is a round glass table, in the middle of the table there is a large, round goldfish bowl with a single goldfish inside. The water is clean and well tended. Splitting center of the table, there are two chairs. In the upstage right corner there is a refrigerator. The three landmarks should make a strong diagonal line.

LIGHTS UP on MOM who is behind the kitchen sink, attending to a large pile of dishes in the sink. She is a pleasant looking woman, somewhere around her late 30's and very early 40's. She is beautiful yet worn, everything about her is modest yet fashionable.  The kitchen shines in the light and the air smells of pine sol. Using a soap and sponge wand she aggressively scrubs the plates and bowls and sets them to the left. There should be an alteration between plates/bowls/glassware and the spoons/knives/forks. BEN enters upstage right. He's also dressed quite moderately. Consider khaki pants and a fitted white shirt. Walking into the kitchen, he observes the room with an air of caution. He remains casual as he opens up the fridge, taking time to analyze his options. He settles for an apple. Taking a bite, he shuts the door and turns to face his step-mother. He watches as she handles the dishes with an aggravated demeanor. He sighs, and decides to take the bait.

BEN

(lightly mocking) Mother dear...

MOM doesn't answer. She heard him, but does not answer. 

BEN
The kitchen sure looks clean.
(BEAT)
The whole house looks clean.
(BEAT)
So something must be wrong. 

MOM continues to clean, shaking her head in frustration.  BEN rolls his eyes. Listen, he gave it his best shot, right? He turns and heads to exit offstage right, when MOM stops him just before he can leave. 

MOM

(looking up from her dishes, but not at BEN) I just don't understand.

BEN

Understand what? 

With the attitude of a mostly matured adult, BEN enters back into the space with a sigh.

BEN
Understand what, mother?
(takes a bite from his apple)

MOM

How many mothers have to beg their children to have sex?

Exasperated, BEN throws his arms into the air.

BEN
This again? How many times-

MOM
As many times as it takes!
(BEN begins to protest but MOM hammers on)
Don't you want children? Isn't that... important to you- a value?
(Again, BEN attempts to interject)
Wouldn't your father be so... so happy and honored- Honor! Children in your father's honor!

As MOM speaks, she begins to dry spoons, forks, and knives. Without paying much attention, she picks up a knife and, with much force, wraps her hand around the blade. Her bare hand is covered by the towel, yet there is still blood and a mark. With a loud inhale, she drops the knife into the sink. BEN rushes to care for her. These next lines are spoken as BEN guides MOM over to the chair so he can properly look at the damage from underneath the kitchen table light.

MOM
I'm fine... it's fine... just a little cut. That's all. 

BEN
You have to pay attention. You can't flip into this mania, go around cutting yourself up, bleeding all over your freshly mopped floors.
(BEAT.)
(making a joke) You wouldn't like it if I did that, would ya?

They share a soft moment together as BEN places pressure on his MOM's hand. After a beat MOM begins to speak.

MOM
(slyly) You know what I would like... 

BEN
(standing up from his squatted position)
STOP!

MOM
You're always complaining that there aren't any woman for you here,
so why don't you, I don't know, expand your horizon.

BEN
Expand my horizon?

MOM
Absolutely!
(soft pause)

For example, a few cities over....

BEN
(desperate to close this conversation)
It's not going to happen. It won't. It's not. I try to tell you, and you just won't listen. 

MOM
I'm listening. I'm always listening. 

BEN
(sighing, trying to offer concrete reasoning) I can't... break this-

MOM
You're breaking my heart, you know that?

With a heavy sigh, BEN crosses his MOM to sit in the open chair. He takes her hand and they sit quietly for a moment.

BEN
I'm sorry... that I'm disappointing you.

MOM

No, your father disappointed me.
(pause)
Up and dying like that.

They share this moment together. It's a little bit funny, enough to smile by. After a BEAT, MOM continues-

MOM
(softly) 

Don't you... don't you want to have a family?
Don't you want to father the children of a beautiful wife?
Extend the family tree, Ben.

BEN doesn't speak, until it hits him-

BEN
Why are you so invested?
Huh?
Because if we want to be honest here...
You're not even...
(he pauses, unsure of how to say what he's trying to say)
You're not even my real mother.

This comment both surprises yet doesn't affect MOM. After a BEAT she slowly rises and walks back towards the sink. She turns on the water and begins to scrub a new plate. BEN sits idle at the table, thinking of what he had just said.

MOM
(after a build of great tension)
You know....
It's not just you.

BEN
What?

MOM
Through me...

You have a brother.

LIGHTS FADE to the sound of river water splashing. The kitchen set is removed and a YOUNG MOM is now standing center, holding a canoe paddle. 

a conversation
Google images, round table

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I decided to write a contemporary style play based on Mahabharata Episode 6 - Satyavati's Secret, due to the medium of the media. I was inspired by the moment when Satyavati is trying to convince her to son to break his promise of abstinence. I love reflecting on this story, and how much Satyavati really does love Bheeshm. I wanted to try and capture that tender relationship. I obviously changed the names to fit the style. Bheeshm as Ben, and Satyavati as Mom. The play would continue with a flashback to Satyavati as a young girl, the day she meets Parashara.

Storytelling with Satyavati

Dear Alice,

 So, a truly weird thing is happening to me. In fact, it's always happened to me. I guess before I get to the matters at hand, I'll have to provide a little bit of backstory. I'm adopted, which isn't really that big of a deal because my parents are awesome, and they definitely stick close to my roots. My adopted father is a fisherman, but before I became basically his right hand girl, I spent a lot of time with my mother. It's kind of crazy because my stupid brother (I have a brother, by the way.) he lives with a king. You see, the king didn't want me because.... well, I'll get to that. So anyway, my real dad is named Uparichara. He's a king as well. What's all of this about me missing out on royalty? I don't even- whatever. I had the most natural of water births, and that's when my current father, who's definitely not royalty, found me and my brother. He took us to the king, who clearly didn't want me but took in my brother... who is now royalty. I'm not really bitter anymore, I guess, that's just how the cards fell for me. I honestly really love working with my father on the river. Being born of the water, it feels like home. I don't want to like, brag or anything, but when it comes to looks... well, let's say that I'm not lacking. Only it doesn't matter how beautiful I am, when I have this overwhelming... this... this problem. You see, I really want a husband. I know, I know what you're thinking... how about a boyfriend? That's just not how things work around here. Anyway, I really want to get married! I just can't seem to find a mate.... because...

well, I smell like a fish.

It's completely chronic! It's not because I work with my dad by the river, not at all! I work by the river so people won't think I just so happen to smell like a fish, but it's the truth! I SMELL LIKE A FISH! I've tried everything. Mudbaths, tonics, perfumes, bath bombs... nothing seems to work.

Please, please help.

Sincerely,

Fish Out of Water






Dear Alice,

 Well, I never did hear from you. Which was pretty disappointing because I was really beginning to lose hope. I was about to deem myself lost forever when, I'll tell you what, just the craziest thing happened. And trust me, I know crazy. So, I'm working one day for my dad. Rowing the boat across the stream. It was a very hot day, and those days are the worst because... I sweat a lot. And it smells like... well, I'm sure you remember, smells a lot like fish. A man approached the boat, got in, I asked where he was headed, across the way (he said), and we were off. I wasn't really thinking about much, just, you know, rowing the boat, when he started (to my surprise!) hitting on me? He said, "A woman so dark and beautiful didn't deserve to row a boat all day long in the hot, hot sun." Do you know what he did then? Of course you don't, but I'll tell you. He took my hand! I was actually shocked, and I hate to say it but my palms sure were clammy. He's trying so hard, like so hard for me! It was... well, really nice. Much deserved and a long time coming... but hold on. Things get even crazier. So we get to the other side of the bank and he's trying to... well, you know, move along really quickly in our relationship. Listen, I'm not a loose girl. But he was just so.... oh! I forgot to mention. He's a sage, right? And he promised me some really, really great things. There's kind of a list, honestly, but I'm THRILLED to say that, with no help from you, I solved my fishy situation! I got him to grant me the most beautiful smell of musk. In fact, you can smell it for MILES! It's incredible! Besides that, I've secured ever-lasting beauty, infinite virginity, and (all in ONE day!) I had a baby.

Anyway, Alice, what should I name him?
I'm thinking Vyasa.

Sincerely,

Satyavati

moving on to bigger ponds, am I right?
Jonathan Perez

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I had a lot of fun writing this one! I found my inspiration to write this story as a letter from some of the other blog's I've visited over the past two weeks. This story comes from one of the very first in the Mahabharata, Vyasa and Ganesha. I thought the story of Vyasa's mother was just so interesting and absurd. There seems to be a theme to my writing, I've written a lot about mothers and female figures of Indian literature. I love taking them down from their size and attempting to create something modern and realistic. Sometimes it feels like a crime... but a creative crime?

I also used addition research from, the most reliable, wikipedia

Storytelling: Sita Tested

Does she burn?
mirror spectrum

She stood from him at a distance.

"...Rama" Her voice was broken. A volitile cocktail of distress, disbelief, desire. What was this? Surely the trees would melt away, the people would volatile from image, and from her deep sleep she would awake.

Certainly so.
Yet there they stood.

 Facing Rama, grasping for dissolve within his eyes. He moved towards her, slowly. Her right hand shoved in front of her chest. Power surged within, deep from her core. Volumes of adrenaline pumped through her bones as pheromone seeped from her pores. "And do not call me gentle." She stepped forward as her voice broke. "Dare you to call upon me with such language? Such disgrace? Rama," she pleaded, "look at me. Cast away your certainty volatile  doubts and you will see through the things you think you know. " Searching desperately within his eyes, Sita saw nothing. Not a flick of remorse, not a dash of empathy. Rama's gaze laid just above her left shoulder. She turned fiercely, extending her arms towards the woods, radiating a justified desperation. "Did the trees tell you, oh great hero?" Her mock echoed through the distance, it vibrated the lake, the flowers sunk inside of their petals. "This slander carried by the wind? Did the rains moisten your brain now eaten by mealworm? Look at me."  
Nothing.

Sound cut from the scene.

Like a sturdy oak caught in a storm, Sita dropped to her knees. The earth shook beneath as her voice shattered the silence and erupted into heavy sobs. No one dared to breath, no wind dared to gust the surface.

"Do not call me renounced."

Hyperventilating, core crunched, her beautiful face pressed into the grass and dirt and earth. A moment of silence for a woman broken by the cruel course of fate.

Suddenly all went silent with the exception of her labored breath. Sita's internal dialog argued with her erratic emotions, pleading the will to resurrect from darkness and to find an ounce of courage in this gift of love the Gods had awarded her.
Wiping her face before surfacing the harden stares of all that stood presently, Sita slowly rose to her knees. With a heavy breath and a voice that sounded unlike her own,
"Send me to the fire."

She announced calmly, as if her confidence was solid and secure. But the truth remained questioned. If Rama could turn on her unusually and publicly, what confirmed that she would remained unscathed by the flames? The truth she knew within him was dismantled.



"Sita," Rama's eyes were red with empathy. Before he could question her judgement, Sita was standing solid within the confirmation of her statement. "I am well furnished with longanimity. You shall not change my mind." Rama sighed heavily, and she knew his heart was broken, too. "Rama," she promised, "I will not forsake you. You will not be forsworn." Suddenly the wind picked up the end of her words as she circumambulated her husband.

"Inasmuch as my heart has never turned from Rama, do thou, O Fire, all men's witness, guard me; since Rama casts me away as strained, who in sooth am stainless, do thou be my refuge."*

The sound of her spell serenaded the crowd. A small flicker of light and then, as if by magic, a flame split the ground and roared. The onlookers gasped and stepped back, creating greater distance from the two crossed lovers.

For a moment, the fire felt almost inviting. Warmth caressed Sita's back as she faced Rama. They breathed together.  A small bead a sweat began to form on the nape of Sita's neck.

_________________________________

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story comes from Sita Tested in the Ramayana. She is reunited with Rama, but he assumes of her to have been unfaithful. I wanted to retell this story because I was shocked when reading Rama and Sita. When Rama destroys her in front of so many onlookers she breaks beneath the pressure. I feel like I've definitely been in situations "similar" to this. I think we all have. When we're telling the truth and are accused of lying, it feels like nothing can make things right.

*denotes taken directly from the text 
^I wanted to use the Ramayana's text directly for her "spell binding" moment. I thought it was especially powerful and I didn't want to change it.



SOURCE-
Ramayana- Sita Tested

Storytelling: The Rainy Rainy Rainy Season

An exiled man, stuck in a monsoon. Rama is held in a cave for his own good. To stay dry. To keep health. To avoid exposure to the horrid extremes of weather threatening the landscape.
To not die.
 "It's spacious!" they cry. "It's full of lotus, and lily, and light!" Rama listens as he examines the sky turning, darkness burning through light. "It is the yearly rain," they smile, as if they are proud. As if they know all that is good and right and just. Rama thinks of Sita. He thinks of her beauty, he thinks of her heart, he thinks of her youth and he thinks of her wasting away each and everyday. He watches the clouds, he hears the thunder.
"Come,"
they say,
"Come and see our cave. Your cave. Come and see your home."

And it Rains.
Brien Henderson

And it rains. It rains. It rains. 

The man sat on stone. 

Thoughts of chairs. 

Old wood. New thread. 

One word in his head. 

A name. 

The name. 

Her name. 

Like a beat from a drum. 

Si. Ta

Si. Ta

Si. Ta

Like a drum. 

Si. Ta

Si. Ta

Si. Ta

No. 

A beat.

Like a heart. 

Si.Ta

Si.Ta

Si.Ta

Yes. 

Like a heart beats. 

Si.Ta

Si.Ta

Si.TA

He groans. He moves. 

And it rains. And it rains. And it rains. 

He looks to his left. 

Cave.

He looks to his right.

More cave. 

He looks up to the sky,

to curse the pain. 

The name.

Her name.

His name.

But curse most, 

the rain. 

He waits.

He waits.

He waits. 

Hush your talk.
Drink your tea.
Hear the wind.
What does it say?

Siiiiiiii
Taaaaaaaaaa.

He groans.
He moves.
Cave.
More cave.
No thing but a cave.

There is no clock.
There is no time.
There is only
Rain.
Pain.
Rain.
Pain. 

"If"
He thinks.
"If I could"
He thinks.
"If I could leave this cave..."

"My Lord"
He turns.
"My Love"
He turns.
He hears. 

"My Lord, My Love"
My Love, My Lord. 
My Lord, My Love. 

A voice.
Her voice.
No.
No.

No.

The wind.

Si.Ta
Siiiiiii
Taaaaaa
My Siiiii
Lord
My Taaaaa
Love 

Cave.
Cave.
Cave.

Rain.
Rain.
Rain.

It Burns.
If he should touch the rain
could it
would it

burn 'way pain?
Could it burn 'way thoughts?

and names?

She is not here.

She is.
but she is not.

In all her grace,
Si.Ta

Lies on the same earth as he. 

She is not here.
But she is.

And it rains. 

"Let me go,"
he cries.
"Let me go,
or let me die."

To Sleep.

No more.
And in that sleep of death what dreams may come.

Aye, there's the rub.
To lie.
To die. 

To die.

It rains.


"No"
He thought.
"I can not die.
while she rest on the same earth as I.

One day
I swear
One Day,"
he cries

Days go by.
How he longs.
How he tries
to see through clouds
to see dusk
to see dawn
to see hope
of a new day come.

It rains.
It rains.
He listens,
 Si. 
Ta.
Si.
Ta.
Si.Ta
Si.Ta.
Siiiiiiiii.
Taaaaaaaaaa.

Drops fall to the ground
they sing,
oh, how they sing!
Her name.
Her only name.
God gave her a name
a name of nature
a name of grace.

"Soon"
he thought.

His arms ache.
A heart ache.
A name.
Wet drops on stone. 

There is no home,
when home is far 'way.

Si.
ta.

Si.
ta. 

And it rained. It rained. It rained. It rained. 

Author's Note

I decided to try the "One Syllable" exercise. Let me tell you, it's difficult to write a full length story in that manor. I felt like I had hit a wall, so I added some text in the beginning as exposition. My inspiration came from The Rainy Season from the Ramayana. I really loved Rama's lament and I wanted to take his poem and turn it into text, but then I went with the one syllable thing and another poem happened. I attempted to capture the restlessness and absurdity of waiting. To me, every moment feels like a repetition of old thoughts. It feels like nothing is changing, the clock isn't ticking, etc etc. This is definitely the strangest thing I've written before.... one of my favorite playwrights is Samuel Beckett and I found myself channeling him as I wrote the poem. He utilizes repetition as a way of insanity; which I feel is another place one tends to travel when they're waiting, and waiting, and waiting....


((Also shout out to you if you catch the reference to Hamlet's famous speech!))

WEEK ONE, Story

"A diller, a dollar
a ten o'clock scholar,
what makes you come so soon?
You used to come at ten o'clock
But now you come at noon."

(traditional nursery rhyme)

"a diller, a dollar, a ten o'clock scholar"
From a young age the boy felt that he was destined for great things. Perhaps this was by way of his parent's grooming, for they believed that their son was a gift to the earth. While they had little money his parents made great sacrifice in order to send their son to the Diller School for Young Scholars.

"a ten o'clock scholar, what makes you come so soon?"
Due to his parent's busy work schedule he was dropped off early to the Diller School for Young Scholars everyday at 10:00. His grandmother would drive him daily, and he so cherished the time they would spend together. She would gently encourage him to value more than his brains, for he was more than that. He was brains, yes. But he was heart, and guts, and soul. He loved his Granny, because she saw the best parts of him.

"You used to come at ten o'clock but now you come at noon"
The boy's grandmother was beginning to forget. Forget to buy milk at the grocer. Forget to routinely paint her long, fragile nails. One day the boy sat idle on the front porch. The morning sun began to grow warmer and warmer as he checked his digital watch. 9:30 slowly ticked until it was 10:00, and then 10:00 turned to 10:18, then 10:18 turned to 10:45, and it wasn't until 11:11 that his dear sweet granny was seen strolling to the house. "What are you doing out here?" she asked sweetly. With a sigh the boy swung his backpack over his left shoulder and gently took her arm in his right. "Come granny," he said, "it's time to go to school." 

waiting for grandma....

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
"A diller, a dollar
a ten o'clock scholar,
what makes you come so soon?
You used to come at ten o'clock
But now you come at noon."

This old english nursery rhyme is a cautionary tale of the value of punctuality. It's a classic rhyme, so I wanted to put my own spin on it. I began to think about childhood and when a parent was late to picking you up, or dropping you off, and it's a situation completely taken out of your control.

The story comes from the nursery rhyme book.