Edge of a Grave

”They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.”
Re-reading Beckett’s Waiting for Godot after many years and this time in English: it’s still powerful and startling. I have always wished to direct this piece one day. “One day! ….like any other day…” (as Beckett'd say) and I keep asking myself would it ever happen and when? “Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time! It’s abominable! When! When!”
Would I ever direct any performance again? I gave a workshop on acting at Teater Huset last Wednesday and was carried away by the work; working with performers, training, rehearsing, creation etc. I can’t seem to be going to get that chance anytime soon. But I can read Beckett and dream, wandering all around he’s wastelands and nowheres and blather his words:
“Astride of a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole, lingeringly, the gravedigger puts on the forceps. We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries.”