Outsiders

Well…I survived my first day of summer school with the RSC. It was not intimidating as I feared it might be and the only real problem was when someone said something that was so intriguing to my brain that my brain ran away with that thought and I suddenly realized that I had missed a whole chunk of a lecture or discussion because I was lost in the pathways and dark alleys that my up one of my thought meanderings.

The theme of this summer's productions with the RSC is "outsiders". The four shows are Volpone, Othello, The Jew of Malta, and Merchant of Venice. It is an intriguing if dark line up. I am grateful that the final show that I will see will be Merchant as that one does not feel so dark to me, even though it is hardly filled with sweetness and light. I did not love tonight's production of Volpone. It is only fair to admit that I don't love this play anyway and I did actually love the man who played Volpone, Henry Goodman, but as a whole I did not really care for the direction that they took. On a side note, I love studying about Ben Jonson the man, he was an uber fascinating fellow and I don't particularly care to study about the life of William Shakespeare, his life is rather a bore compared to Jonson's. But good old Will certainly writes circles around his buddy Ben. Ben Jonson's themes are good and he tells a good story but the words just don't soar the way that William Shakespeare's works do.

The part of the day that really set me to thinking was when the two actors that play Othello and Iago addressed us and answered questions and offered their insights. They have made the surprising choice of casting an African to play Iago. If you know the play at all, you understand what an upheaval in dynamic it is to have both Othello and Iago be men of color. As Lucien, the man who is playing Iago addressed us concerning the opportunity to play the character that is (in my opinion) the most evil of all of the Shakespeare villains, that is when my mind really set to wandering. I won't take you where my mind went, but I can tell you that I may be seeing Iago through different eyes when I see the show tomorrow evening. I loved what Hugh (the man playing Othello) had to say about race and I want to leave off my blog with his words and a few thoughts because they are still resonating with me.

"Race is no guide to character or virtue not has it ever been. Race is a social concept, not a concept of science."

We are all outsiders in some way at times in our lives. And in nearly all cases, this is due to a social concept, we are not outsiders in a scientific way, so that means that none of us need ever remain outsiders. I journaled today those ideas that I cling to that cause me to be an outsider and I am now working to be more aware and conscious that, just like race, those things are not what guide my character or virtue and so I need to take ownership and remove these things that make me feel outside or alone and in so doing, cause those around me to no longer see me as an outsider. This likely doesn't make much sense, my brain is mush, but I challenge you to take on removing whatever it is that you are holding onto that makes you feel as though you are on the outside and change your mindset so that you can have acceptance and peace, first with yourself and then from others.

Hamlet was slothful, who knew?

First of all, let me clear up some old business. In last night's blog, I posted that I was distraught over a number of things not the least of which was that the curmudgeonly book seller was no longer in business. Well, I WAS WRONG! I was merely looking on the wrong block. I will be seeing him tomorrow…

Had a wonderful day here in Stratford upon Avon. Got to see Anne Hathaway's cottage which really isn't Anne Hathaway's cottage, but that's another story. What matters is that I walked where Anne and William walked. Got to try a eighteenth century recipe for a chocolate meringue tart. It wasn't very good, but I can say I tried it. I walked around 15,000 steps. I met a woman who could be the British counterpart to me. I will be getting to know her a bit better as classes begin tomorrow so I'll keep you posted. But mostly I just got to spend the day in the burgh of the Bard and that is magical.

The real thing I want to talk about is something that I learned in the studies I took upon myself to prepare for this week of instruction with the Shakespeare Institute and the RSC. Not a surprise that I turned to the ever intriguing Michael D.C. Drout and he did not disappoint. In listening again to his course titled How to Think: The Liberal Arts and Their Enduring Value, I came upon a passage that totally blew my mind. In speaking of the importance of cultural literacy he brought up Hamlet. He opined that few people today understand why Hamlet is (or was, back in the day) nearly always dressed in full black. He explained that people in Elizabethan times understood that this meant he was a character that represented sloth. Sloth? Yep, he then asked if we were all puzzled by this because Hamlet doesn't come across as lazy in the least? Well…sloth, when it was designated one of the seven deadly sins was not the way we use the word today. It didn't mean simply lazy, there was a deeper connotation. It meant being someone who is so bogged down in seeing their sins and the sins of others and has reached a point of hopelessness because the see no way to be cleansed of the sin that surrounds them that they fail to do what the Lord would have them do, they become so weighted down that they cease to function correctly and productively until they just stop trying to do good and give themselves completely over to darkness or despair. WOW! I can see where I have really fallen into the trap of this very real and deadly sin of late in my life. The longer I meditate and ponder on this one the more I realize that God is just smirking at me because he got clever again and used the literature that speaks to my heart to soften my heart and force me to own my mistakes. I am not quite certain how to dig myself out of some of the despair and angst, but I am choosing to own that while I have made this mess, there is totally a way out and I can get past this particular valley in my life and find myself up on a peak again if I will just take that ownership and run with it.

Thanks God! Thanks Shakespeare! Thanks to all of you who still love this slothful Cynthia!

Would Shakespeare like change?

I did not post many photos today. Well, I did post a couple from London but then I got sad as we wandered around Stratford-upon-Avon and saw so many things that were not as they should be, in my mind, and now I am going to vent so that I can sleep and try again tomorrow.


We walked down what was one of my favourite streets in this quaint town and I learned that the curmudgeonly used bookseller is gone, the Windmill has been bought out by a crummy franchise and is serving a canned menu that I can find anywhere in England and so I can no longer get that garbanzo bean/beetroot salad that was to die for, and there is a wall up around New Place with all sorts of written promises on said wall that in the Spring of 2016 we will have a new exhibit that will allow us to see Shakespeare the man at home more clearly. Erin is correct in that I should wait and see what they put there, I know she is right in my mind. But my heart is really pissed off. I cannot even put into words what happened to me when I saw that wall around New Place. It is one thing to be filled with rage at that idiot who, back in the day, tore down New Place in hopes of keeping the Shakespeare nuts away (what a twit, fat lot of good that did). It is quite another thing to consider something else aside from a grassy expanse and gardens being in this place. I desperately don't want some glossy building with pieces of what may have been Shakespeare's cannabis pipe in a glass case. So, what do I want? I want New Place to be exactly what it was one my last visit. I want to go to the exact same bench that I sat in before when I had such a powerful meditation. I don't want any change. I am not gonna get what I want and so I am sad and feeling rather quarrelsome.


I am also wondering how Shakespeare would feel if he were in my shoes. He had a rebel side, he took old stories and changed them, radically in some cases. He would probably laugh at me and my angst. But I am not Shakespeare, I am more of a Christopher Wren or a William Blake. I tend towards mysticism and I want or even need to be able to touch and be in and absorb old places. The day began with Eucharist under the dome at St. Paul's and that was glorious. As was visiting the tombs of some of my patron saints, Wren, Blake, and Donne. I suppose I need to end with the some of the words from the man associated with the oldest piece I saw today. After St. Paul's burned down in the Great Fire of 1666 and Christopher Wren began work to replace it with something equally if not more splendid, he sifted through the ashes and the one monument to survive the fire was that of my old friend, poet and Dean of St. Paul's, John Donne. This monument now stands in the south aisle. I suppose that to close and put my quarrelsome self to bed, some of John Donne's words are applicable here I suppose…


"Contemplative and bookish men (and women) must of necessity be more quarrelsome than others, because they contend not about matter of fact, nor can determine their controversies by any certain witnesses, nor judges. But as long as they go towards peace, that is Truth, it is no matter which way."


I am not contending with matters of fact here, I am contending with matters of the heart and soul and so I will say my prayers and work, as dear Mr. Donne suggest, towards peace and truth and try and to keep my eye on the big picture. But for tonight I am sad and I will ask for dreams of New Place just as I remember it.

Be the Flame

Tonight I meditated by candlelight. As I was doing my deep breathing and chanting, I was watching that flame. I watched it burn strong as I breathed in and then watched as it guttered when I exhaled and interrupted the air around it. I began to focus more deeply on that flame. I had a sense that there was something in this flame that I really needed to understand. Then, as I exhaled rather deeply and the flame threatened to disappear, I got it. I have been complaining, to anyone who would listen, about the fact that I (and others like me) am dealing with an addiction that is unlike any other addiction in the world. One cannot simply remove the food, one has to eat to survive. I whine about this every chance I get because I cannot seem to bring myself to a place of eating only what I need to correctly fuel my body and be satisfied. But the little voice in my head was now saying to me, "Be the flame". As I pondered what I know about flames it struck me that a flame is in a similar situation. That wee bit of fire needs air to exist, it must have oxygen to be fed and sustain its existence and as long as a steady and sure supply of air is available, that flame burns tall and strong. But the moment that too much air is introduced, that flame weakens and finds itself in trouble and there is that critical moment when the air flow reaches the point when the flame loses the battle and perishes under the power of the very thing that sustained its life. This is precisely what has been happening to my body for many, many years with food. I have been repeatedly taking in, not what I needed to stand straight and strong, but have been dancing in that danger zone with an excess of food that causes me to sputter and sway and lose power and strength. And, if I continue this dance, the food, or the consequences of taking in that much food, will smother me and I will perish before it was necessary for my life to end. I must learn to be the flame.

Wishes

Many of you have heard me preach about meditation and the power and strength it can bring into a life. I am one lucky gal because my favourite mediation spot is often my big, deep, jetted tub that sits under a huge picture window. Because of where I live, I can bathe, by candlelight, while staring out of this window because there is nobody but the animals to notice me. Nearly every night of late, as the days get longer, I have been able to spot the first star of the evening from my bathtub. And yes, I do still make a wish each and every time I spot that first star. For the past few nights, my wish has been essentially the same and it has been fervent, begging from the depths of my soul. Well, tonight the star answered back. (Ain't it just like me to get a sassy one.) She pointed out to me that she has heard my wish for a few nights in a row now and she feels my angst but the fulfillment of this wish is entirely up to me. It is in my power to see it to fruition or not. I began to whine and beg for some outside assistance because I don't clearly see or believe that I can do it. The star got right back in my face and bluntly stated, "Then you will fail". That was all she was going to offer, she then turned her glittery back to me and refused to offer another word.


I am not gonna lie, I sat there for a few moments in a full-on pout. How dare she talk to me in that fashion? Her job and only serious responsibility is to grant wishes or at least the promise of a wish come true. But then, as I watched the darkness gather outside the window and stared at the candle flickering on the side of the tub and my meditation deepened, I realized that the star had done her job, she had kept her part of the bargain. She had granted my wish. What I want to achieve with my body and my life is one hundred percent in my power. It is wholly up to me. I can choose to be empowered and make correct choices and bring on real change or I can ALWAYS find a reason that it is too hard, or not the right time, or that I do not have the support structure to make real change.


Thank you, Miss Sassy Star. I will do all that I can to see my wishes through and then pass along what I have learned to make another person's wish come true.

Beauty always surfaces

I tried to write a poem about the feelings that I experienced today and I may come up with something yet but the emotions were too big and so I needed to write a blog post. I don't always see this clearly, the words that I posted as the title to this post, but today I am working to choose to believe these words and I am going to try and hold this belief as much as possible. This truth struck me so powerfully today as I stared over the side of the monument that stands over the USS Arizona. As we got off the ferry that takes us out to the monument I was struck, overwhelmed actually, by the odor of oil that permeates the site. I had not expected this and it nearly knocked me over. There is such a sense of reverence but at the same time, the oil smell was so physical and corporeal, such the opposite of spiritual. I caught my breath and went inside the monument. I was leaning over and watching the hole that opens in the floor in the center of the monument and watching the small drops of oil rise to the surface and create rainbow streaks in the water. And then I noticed the fish, darting and playing in the ruin. And then it struck me. This rusted hulk, this tomb, has become something wonderful and yes, beautiful. I went from opening to opening, studying the wreckage and watching the sea life dancing and I realized that the entire Arizona has become a living coral reef. The coral has anchored and established itself there in that metal and life has sprung from all of that death and destruction. And even the oil, constantly seeping up to the surface, is not damaging this life, only enhancing it with the rainbow sheen that one peers through to see the wreck. It is glorious. And I was flooded and filled with such a sense of peace and comfort. And as I listened to the park ranger describe the ceremonies that take place to burying ashes of the survivors of 7 December 1941 who choose to return to this place to join their shipmates and the ceremony that occurs yearly on the anniversary date, I had such a sense of fullness. These men, who have not yet been released from their duties, who stand on an eternal watch, they are at peace, they are redeemed and avenged and they rest easy. And, they are content as long as we remain grateful and vigilant and work hard to keep the world as much a place of peace as possible. And watching the reaction of my children, how much they were touched by all that they heard and saw in that place, I feel so much hope.

The real cycle of life, the service cycle.

I have messed up so many things lately, mostly due to having misplaced my priorities. But I am still being blessed and being allowed to see blessings come to others. God is awfully good that way. I have lost some friends along the way this past week and I am still filled with confusion and sorrow about all of my mistakes and I find myself doubly stunned that God will still find it in his heart to bless me. But I can see how the good works I have managed to squeak out offer me the opportunity for blessings in spite of my many shortcomings.

A dear friend stepped up for me this week and came through when I was laying on my bathroom floor wanting to die. She went out of her way and I was praying for blessings for her and, you know what, that prayer was answered. Because she did what she did for me and that put her getting home much later than she wanted to get home, she happened to arrive as her children were working together to put the ornaments on the tree. She was able to sit in her car and just watch them through her front window as they laughed and reminisced and shared this duty happily together. It was a powerful moment for her, a real gift, as this looks to be the last year this will likely happen for their family due to college and grown up life taking her oldest to another state next year. There is not a better gift that I could have ever wished to offer her and I am so grateful that in serving me, the timing was such that she was given such a breathtaking moment.

Today I wanted to be at church early so badly because a talented organist friend of mine was playing the greatest piece of music ever written as prelude to our meeting. (That piece of music is Bach's "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" in case you were wondering.) But I needed to take care of a sick child and deal with yet ANOTHER leaky tire on my car and also do the groundwork necessary to make certain that our family could pick up a friend who we were gifting an afternoon at the Evergreen Children's Chorale concert after church. This friend has a tough time getting around on her own right now and much in her life is a struggle and I know that she loves music more than anything in the world and so I just knew that we had to get her to this show but the snowstorm was making that a bit tricky with her wheelchair and all. But a little legwork and brain power showed me the way to make it work. Well…we got to church late, really late. Poor Seviah was giving a talk despite being ill and she had to walk up in front of everyone and I will probably go to hell for that, but, well, add it to the list! Anyway, it came time for us to have our rest hymn, a song that we usually sing as a congregation between speakers to wake us up and get the blood pumping again. But today it was announced that my friend Gaylene would be playing her prelude number for the congregation since so few of us were able to hear it before the meeting. This was an amazing gift for me and I sat with tears streaming down my face as she played. For me, this was a hug from the heavens telling me that my good efforts were being noticed and there was someone there to help me repent and work past the messes I keep making.

Seviah gave a beautiful talk today on the scripture in Proverbs 4:26 where we are admonished to "ponder the path of thy feet". She reminded us that it is indeed a path we walk, not a trail we have to blaze, because a savior has walked the path before us and has felt what we feel and has been pierced with the pain that we feel and the pain that we deal to others and has overcome it and now gladly offers to show us the way and hold our hands as we try to do better. He is also offering blessings to remind us that we are indeed loved, despite the shortcomings. Whew, that's all I can say.