I know, I'm not that old, not really. I'm only 32 after all. But sometimes, I can't help but feel older than I should. It's been happening more lately as I see more changes in my life and in the world around me. So much upheaval; Living, loving, death, marriage, divorce, love found, love lost, terrorism, wars, genoicide, famine.....to everything turn, turn, turn...as the song goes. This excerpt from Shakespeare has been sticking with me a great deal recently. I often ask myself, what is my role in this play called life? Am I the hero? The villian? The lover? The fighter? The sinner or saint? The good son? The doomed father?
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,
They have their exits and entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide,
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything
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