Arts Review

No Time to Fly

Rollins Studio Theatre at the Long Center

April 7

One word can easily summarize Deborah Hay's solo performance of No Time to Fly. Mesmerizing. When she does this:

, I make up this:

.

She repeats it, with an electrifying nuance,

,

and my story repeats,

though this time completely differently.

Then this happens:

,

and I feel

. What just happened?

My mind tries to make sense of it; my body knows. She only did this:

, and I felt this:

but ... also this:

.

Continuum. My heart skips a collective beat. Attentively, as I am, fully engaged, the master moves downstage. This is for real this time. Engagement. I try not to examine, but I want to. As I do, she turns. I gasp. She shifts course, and I nervously shift. Tragedy? Oh no! Commitment. It is all right there: birth, death, and every moment in between. Our life. A monumental aura magically appears. Guidance. Go this way:

,

then this way,

,

then this way,

.

We are almost there.

I wonder, so she flutters again like this:

, with utter distillation,

–

though this time it could mean this:

,

or

,

and

!

Although I am deeply in love, I still want desperately to make sense of it all. I finally come to the great realization – the time is now to let go and just be with it. Union. Why keep looking for meaning? Everything I need to know is right in front of my very eyes. Acceptance. Yes! (Ah ... of course.) We finally breathe deep, deeply knowing, in the end, we are together forever. Marriage. We continue to fly. We have all the time in the world. It is that easy.