The Road

Face the winds and walk the good road to the day of quiet.

Black Elk
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Hello Ernie
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I know an actress named Emily who says that her daily prayer is "God, give me peace." I can relate to that. Oh, how I yearn for the quiet day. My heart, my mind and my whole being hopes of the day when the vultures spread their wings and fly off, when the vipers slip silently back into their holes, and when the catalogue of my mistakes is flung into the fire to help warm the cold night of winter. I yearn for the end of sorrow. I long for the repair of my broken heart and the gathering up of broken dreams.

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone
I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
When the city sleepsAnd
I'm the only one and I walk alone

(Al Dubin/Harry Warren)

I walk alone but try to stay on the good road at last. I hope for the biting winds of winter to become the gentle breeze that clears my spirit. To have a sweet person bring me Christmas dinner on a freezing cold December night and then to learn that the sweetness was a lie and the person a deceiver is a breaking of the heart. The love I still have for that person keeps me on the good road.

Walk in the way of good men, and keep the paths of the righteous. (Proverbs 2:20)

To be unable to do the work I love because of where I live is a breaking of the dream, but my heart still holds the hope that I will step upon a stage again one day. I walk alone with that hope clutched in my heart.

The good road is a lonely one and I have to keep checking the signs to see that I stay on it. But through all the sorrow, fear, noise, pain, scorn, disappointment, discouragement, loss and failure, I still walk the road believing that there will be at last a day of quiet.

Dana Bate - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up************************

SUMMER QUESTION

I recently received a peck on the cheek from two members of the female persuasion. Besides those I haven't experienced a real kiss in many, many years. I have no flowers. There is nothing growing outside, no trees, no bushes, no flowers, just a few pathetic weeds here and there. That, thankfully, does a lot to discourage the mosquito population, but it doesn't give me much in the way of flora. So I pose this question for those of you who have more experience in these matters.
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Which is more important, a flower or a kiss? Why?

dbdacoba@aol.com

Thank you.

On The Boards

There's one more horizon out there, one more horizon that you have to make for yourself and let other people discover it.

Gordon Parks
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Hello George
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I want to go back to work. It makes no difference how good you are, if you're an artist there is always more to do, more ideas, more expressions, more experiences to describe, more truth to tell, more wisdom to share. The intelligence of the universe, of all creation, is unlimited, therefore there is no limit to the ideas which can be discovered and expressed.

I knew a broadcaster named Chester. He was very good. He was the only announcer I ever knew who could tell exactly what time it was without looking at the clock.

One day he retired. His family had grown, he had a healthy pension and some very solid investments. So off he went into the world of freedom and financial independence. It wasn't long before he was back for a visit and saying that he still had ideas inside of him that needed to come out.

I called my friend Diane last night. She and I did a season of stock together years ago. She is also living in a place, in her case Florida, that she wants to get out of. We talked of meeting up in New York and doing "The Gin Game" together. That would be a sight to see. Another friend, Charles, and I would like to do"The Dresser" some day, another sight to behold.

Me best memories are on a stage somewhere, the only place I ever felt at home. So here I am stuck in a nowhere town and itching to get out and back to New York where the auditions are. But I'm also stuck in a body that doesn't work and needs a complete overhaul. Alas, alack and woe is me.

I started painting in New York because I was encouraged to by one of my art instructors and by fellow artists. I always get a chuckle when I remember an actor I used to know who looked at the price of the paints I was using (Golden, the best acrylic paint in my opinion, and, no, they're not paying me, unless they want to, of course) and said "This is a very expensive hobby." To him anything other than acting is a hobby.

I started writing about 6 years ago. When I became unable to work as an actor because of physical problems, the only thing I had besides paints and brushes was my computer, which was a gift from a dear friend. I wrote a few sentences now and then and posted them. I'm also an avid reader. So I began to jot down quotes, and write comments about them. Then one day Linda in Washington State discovered me, told on me, people started sending me comments and that's how Vagabond Journeys was born, and now there are over 1,700 issues of it.

In my profile it used to say I'm a retired actor and broadcaster, but I realized not long ago that I am not retired as an artist so why should I say so. I am looking at the horizons I have made for myself. Ingrained into the creative process of an artist, like a tattoo, an extra rib or a sixth finger is an intense and controlling necessity to bring those horizons alive and palpitating, waiting for others to discover.

There is one more horizon, and when that is reached, there's one more, and then there's one more and then....

I'm stuck in a neighborhood I don't like, in a town I don't like, rattled with illnesses and no health insurance on a meager income and I think I going to get back to New York and start appearing on the stage, my home, again. Who are you kidding, DB?

Some day soon I'll do it. Watch me.

Dana Bate - The Vagabond
Never Give up
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