I've heard angels do that - dance on the heads of pins - but I have no idea what it really means except as an analogy for wasting time debating stupid questions. But then I started thinking that angels don't occupy space and matter as we do (if you believe in their existence to begin with), so a kazillion angels could figuratively dance on a pinhead and I wouldn't know it unless I chose to see them. So there.
I love the final monologue from the play Marisol by Jose Rivera. In this play, the lead character Marisol (imagine that!) gets blown away with an Uzi by The Woman in Furs (think Bernie Madoff in drag) and, after she drops dead, Marisol is magically standing in front of the audience describing what death is like. She then reveals that now, since she is dead, she can see the war that the angels have waged against an old senile God. The descriptions are poetic beauty and move me to tears every time I speak the words.
My acting coach, Dr. Ruth Kulerman, is always going on and on about the words being the vehicle to ride into the world of performance from the world of preparation. This is British acting training and, I must admit, after a lifetime of training in the reverse (emotions to words), I struggle mightily at times with allowing the words to speak through their sound and rhythm and music first. I always jump to "how am I feeling?" and "what's my driving question?" and all that -- which are important things, don't get me wrong, but diving into all that is like eating the entire supermarket section of ice cream without paying attention to what flavor I'm shoveling into my mouth. Yeah, ice cream is delicious, but it's heavenly in individual flavors, not as a conglomerate of ice cream in and of itself.
In August, I will start posting a monthly monologue or scene video to share and I want to share Marisol with you. I think you'll have a better idea of what I'm talking about when you hear her words.
So how many angels dance on the head of my pin? As many as I damn well want, thank you very much!