Third and final in this series…
When I noticed seagulls wafting around me, able to ride the winds around South Street Seaport, I didn’t know they had a specific message for me. It became stronger when the seagull from my earlier post planted himself before me. But it wasn’t until I returned to the friend’s apartment where I was staying that I really received clarification. My friend held the New York Times in her hands in which there was a rave review of Chekhov’s The Seagull, in which Kristin Scott Thomas played the older actress mother who needed all the attention focused on her.
Well, from all the seagulls of that morning, I knew I needed to investigate that piece of theater to see what it had to say to me, and so I set off to purchase tickets. We ended up in the balcony.
Several things struck me about the play: the red wounds on the hands of the young aspiring actress who played “the seagull” in the play within the play, which were like crucifixion wounds but also like the three red spots on the sparrow, the song sparrow coming to mind; the young playwright played by Mackenzie Crook as Treplev, calling in wild creatures as though they could heal what ailed those times.
I also managed to hear the Chekov insight about the need for new forms, and the identification within the play of the young actress as the seagull, who comes out ruffled and weathered but still alive at the end. Lastly, I became aware that no one in that play was happy, with themselves or with others. They simply “made do,” and in making do, playing “Lotto” each night, were alive yet not really vibrantly alive.
I will admit that I could hardly keep my eyes open; I kept falling asleep. Chekhov can be incredibly talky. On my behalf, my friend said the balcony was the wrong place in which to see Chekhov, especially this one.
But I did receive impressions besides the ones above. Everyone seemed to feel that the young actress represented the seagull in the story, and if she was a seagull, she may have come out ruffled and damaged, but she weathered what transpired.
Here is a seagull message as an urban shaman might relay it: She was able to ride the winds of those times. Watch a bird, any bird, though seagulls are particularly good at this. Allow their being to fill you, shift you into a lightness of being that let’s go of all discomfort.
To me, since there is a bird seagull which is shot early on in the play, the most powerful symbol of the seagull seemed to be the young playwright. He had a bit of success with his writing career but it wasn’t the sort of success to which he truly aspired. And for all his messages about wild creatures and new forms, he was not able to carry his message to the world in the form he wanted–in plays. He is the seagull who cannot ride the winds, who cannot stop people in their paths with his presence or his words or the urgency of his message, so he ends up killing that nature in his life and the nature that is his life–himself.
What message does Chekhov have for us today? Well, if you read this far, and paid attention, allowing them in, you may have received them. I would like to read some other interpretations of this.
Are we killing our seagulls–nature and the arts? These are our connections to our hearts, to what we love deep in ourselves. Nature and art are healing forces. Are many of us killing ourselves while we live? Making do? There is a way to live vibrant and feeling. There are many ways. I hope, that if you are reading this blog today, you find yours.
“If I gave up sanity,
I could fill a hundred versions of you.
There is no liquid like a tear
from a lover’s eye.”
-Rumi
The mantra of peace “Om shanti shanti shanti” is said to nurture calmness and contentment, and alleviate physical and mental stress. Try chanting it outloud, or silently in times of turmoil or when you’d like to spread a little peace and goodwill, or just chant the word, “Peace” itself.
Many blessings,
Your blogging friend, Melanie
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