Stand alone on a stage and be. Be that person deep inside that yearns to break free, to exist, to breathe. That person that yearns to surface. To lurch from the yoke of the water's grasp and gulp down lungfuls of acrid air - heavy in the incense of a ritual to be observed yet not obeyed.
Stand in the light and be seen. Seen for the most vulnerable face of you, made raw in the spot's light. The honey glow of truth and redemption and fear. Numbing fear of failure to be ignored and trampled on, trounced, made ready for the purchase of a new grasp. A new grip. A handhold on the granite face of that thing you call life.
Stand with nothing. Nothing but your honesty. Your honesty that in that moment alone you are true and real and strong and nimble. Feel that mutinous heart beat from deep within that cavernous chest and answer back with a quiet calm and resolve born of redirected fear.
Stand and see. Not the audience or the curtains or the stage, but your own hands and feet. See what you inhabit and own. What you control. What husk you are and will leave. But for now, here you are. In this moment. On this stage. See with the eyes of ten thousand men and women what space you occupy and in whose body you live. See the mirror in your own mind and adore that shell of yours for the vessel it is to guide you through this pain and love and peace.
Stand in that pool and feel. Feel that charge, that electricity, that inspiration, that perversion of a talent that you have at your disposal and stand in awe of what you will spend a lifetime seeking and chasing and yearning and loving and being in deep addiction to. That resonance that feels so good and seems so hardly out of reach. Be lifted to your toes by your own inspiration. It bubbles to the surface. You part your lips. You open your mouth. And you . . .
Stand alone on a stage.