Anthony Lawton filled the auditorium. With his voice, with his movements, with the emotion filled words, he performed The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis. I confess to have wondered how a single actor would be able to portray half a dozen people- some ghosts, others Bright, in their bus ride from the gray town of hell to the brink of heaven.
One of the travelers carried a lizard on his shoulder. The tall angel gave the man holding it an ultimatum.
"You must allow the beast to be killed."
The man was terrified by the thought, believing his own personhood to be inextricably bound to the creature. He defended it. Made excuses for it. Vied for time. But the angel was unrelenting. In order to proceed to heaven the lizard must die.
Finally the man acquiesced. In that instant the angel destroyed the serpent, which miraculously opened up space for a stallion. The horse was powerful, sinewy, its silver mane rippling in heaven's light. The symbol of lust that the man had clung to prevented this. But when he allowed it to be cast away by an angel, the man could step into the incredible potential of genuine masculine strength.
I notice the way I grip dead things. The presence of which precludes much more beautiful qualities. Being right at the cost of being present is as scaly as a gecko. Such animals will never transport my relationships to anywhere worth going. But loosening my hold on egotism seems terrifying. Who would I be without it?
Witnessing this play makes me eager to find out.
