Stoa (Part I)

SCENE: A wall with an overhang. At the end of the overhang, about two meters from the wall, columns hold up the overhang, forming a stoa. MATTHIAS is leaning in front of a door on the wall. Enter WOLFF.

MATTHIAS: I heard scratching coming from your room last night.
WOLFF: I don't know what that was. All I know is it woke me up several times in a blind terror. What if it was a rabies-infested, filthy raccoon?
M: You know, they are more afraid of you than you are of them.
W: So I've heard, but try explaining that to me at 5 a.m.
M: Well, that's something you're going to have to cultivate.
W: I hear you, but you haven't given me any way to do this.
M: I keep telling you, all you need is some time for refelction. Once you have that, all else follows.
W: I don't know, man. I'm not falling for this over-analyze everything, pseudo-intelllectual, detaching oneself from the world shit. I like my passions. Don't you know that they point to the loci of what is really important in the world? And they do this in a way utterly inaccessible to your reflective mind. Take these past weeks: without the ups and downs of emotional disturbances I would have been bored out of my skull. But it so happened that we had a series of hopes, expectancies, disappointments, hot temper flashes, deep depressions, hammer-blows of inspiration. I got some creative output from that. And what will be left for people to judge me by except that output?
M: Yes, but you had no time for your meditation practice. And what you've just described sounbd like you're riding the ups and praying for the downs to finish. Wouldn't you rather steer steadily in your pre-determined direction.
W: But that's not how it works. Maybe for some meanial tasks where you have to bash through, I can see the value of being somewhat in control, but what about inspiration? I need to grab huge heaving dollops of imagery from that I-know-not-where area of my psyche and bring it back here. It's my mini-hero-cycle. Each time is a little apotheosis, or sacred marriage. If I were in control, I'd lose that struggle.
M: But you know yourself. You descend from the mountain, or rise from the underworld with something precious, but then you never follow up with it. You sit there, bash out a few creative things in feverish inspiration, and then never flesh it out into anything that your peers would view as possessing quality. This is why you need your meditative practices. I'm distressed you were unable to do them.
W: I don't know how you can live like this. You live in increments. A little of this, a little toward this, never experiencing real transformation, never having to reframe, never having to use your intelligence to overcome some corner you've backed yourself into. I like that process. Try to understand that.
M: You only like it if it's working out. You're a flea riding an elephant. You should strive to be a human riding a horse.
W: ...

Consider: "Everything is right for me, which is right for you, O Universe. Nothing for me is too early or too late, which comes in due time for you. Everything is fruit to me which your seasons bring, O Nature. From you are all things, in you are all things, to you all things return."