The Play's the thing....

I believe that Shakespeare was correct when he wrote "All the world's a stage, And all the men and woman merely players."

Long days on the river, with the Lao jungle flowing past, provide ample time for reflection. Reflection, coupled with the force of a journey undertaken, are a powerful thing. Clarity or confusion can be the result, depending upon what of oneself has been brought along on the sojourn.

The third act of my life comes to an end. Sometimes, a playwright needs only three acts. Over this, the Player has no control. Vladimir and Estragon only received two. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern received three, for all the good it did them in the end.

Selfishly, I hope for a fourth. But there are no guarantees. But, as the obligation and attachment of my own Act III fade, I claim whatever scenes remain.

On the river I wrote:

"I may die any day. I feel some of the attachment fade, and I am happy. I want to smash the remaining desire, even the desire for life itself. That desire feels like binding chains."

Again, selfishly, I would like a few more scenes, if for no other reason than an all-consuming curiosity to see how the tale plays out. I have always loved a good story. Once gone, I will disappear into deserved obscurity and be forgotten, but the tale has been a good one, I think.

However long or short, the next act is mine. It is my wish to live as I want, laugh as I want, and embrace the play with all of the fearlessness I can possibly muster.

Without exception, the script is a Tragi-Comedy. This life is so absurd as to be cosmically hilarious, and, in the end, all the players die. Thus it is, and thus it shall be.

Amidst the Acts, there exist such moments of beauty. These are the precious, ephemeral scenes that transport us, if only we can take the time to see them. I claim the time to do so.

In "Dido and Aeneas" Purcell wrote, for Dido's Lament:

"Remember me, But Ah!
Forget my fate."

Or, as MS Barbery writes....

"Remember me, remember me,
And Ah! Envy my fate."