I'm still licking my lips from a beautiful vegetable curry I made today, along with an afternoon of inspirational theatre…

Theatre is a lot like cooking: all the elements need to infuse together to make a delicious meal. I was worried my broccoli and cauliflower had seen better days. I have a tendency to make my curries a little too spicy, and I didn't seem to have enough coconut milk to cover my colorful potpourri of veggies. I had just experienced the best biryani I had ever had this past week at a new vegetarian Indian joint in my neighborhood which actually had cashews in it. I figured I'd try to do the same and add cashews to my concoction. Sometimes being a copy cat works out, and sometimes it doesn't. I find the theatre to be the same. Either it is so boringly over the top, with everything included but the kitchen sink; or it is something that has been done way too many times before in too many formulaic ways.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that this was not the case with my curry/biryani or the theatre I experienced today. The play I saw was a compilation of monologues put together by Eve Ensler and Mollie Doyle called A Memory, A Monologue, A Rant and A Prayer: Writings To Stop Violence Against Women and Girls. The play was produced by Lillian Ribeiro (a true vagina warrior princess) and directed by Rose Ginsberg in a deliciously funky artist building that houses Art House Productions in eclectic downtown Jersey City, New Jersey.

As a V-Day veteran, I was once again encountered with a warm atmosphere of art for and about women when I entered the theatre space. This art included touching photographs with women's faces and booths with V-Day memorabilia and literature about domestic violence (with lovely volunteers from _gaia and Women Rising). Of course, I was greeted by the vagina warrior princess producer-host, Lilly Lips, who had on a bright orange bob wig and 1940s-looking navy blue suit, a combination that unexpectedly made her electric blue eyes shine exquisitely with love.

The actors were dressed in red and black. When the play began in a medley of powerful words about violence, I was pleasantly surprised to see male actors in the cast, which was something I missed in the original Vagina Monologues.

Each monologue was about a different occurrence of violence, some of which included a woman being tortured in Darfur, an urban woman being beat up by her boyfriend, and a college girl getting gang raped at a party. The audience was fully engaged and silent. All we could hear were these terribly sad stories, with the accompaniment of the screeching wind outside the building which was better than any sound effects any director could have planned. It was like the wind was involved in this theatrical event, or perhaps it was the screams of all the suffering souls who had lost their lives due to violence—haunting us to never forget them. This reminded me of the poems written by Marjorie Agosin in her book, Secrets in the Sand: The Young Women of Juarez, where she describes still hearing the cries of the women who were so brutally raped and murdered in the deserts of Mexico, where their unknown bones are still buried today.

 So, the stars were all lined up. The wind was involved, the actors and director gave justice to all the great playwrights that contributed to this work, and my cashews tasted great with my not-too-spicy vegetable curry. It was an afternoon of delicious, life-giving nutrition for the body, mind, and soul. Aristotle would be proud, or should I say Sappho?

I dedicate this story to all living beings who have suffered at the hand of violence. May we continue to hear your voices until there is peace on Earth.     

Marisol Tirelli Rivera