All the world's a stage

Instalment 3 of the Guest Wordsmith series:
Ms. Dhiviya
“All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.”
William Shakespeare
A facade. A Masquerade. Is that we who are blessed with multiple intelligences have been reduced to? A masquerade where the heart behind the mask is but left to the mere imagination and interpretation of others, where judgement, perception and expectation conquers one's heart like a serpent would its prey. Yet like a floundering fish out of water, we silently call out for help, often not to rid us of physical pain but just to help us seek ourselves out, so that we do not have to be the wooden puppets we are controlled by strings, dictated by the so called conceptions of morality others may have. So that the heart behind the mask need not seek which mask will suit it, but instead have the courage to remove it to show its true self to the world.

Yet I believe that every masked rider will have his day, the day of reckoning when he realises that despite his treasure chest brimming with the gold of wealth and a seemingly good life on the surface, he soon realises that he is but yet the poorest destitute beggar there ever was for his true treasure chest, that of his soul is so empty worse yet torn that its existence is highly rare. Those of us who have not felt this shall feel it some day though a certain level of maturity is required.

For instance why is it that the middle aged man who shed his first strand of hair suddenly realises that his whole life is a hoax a mere façade, where then as he attempts to “find” himself he commits adultery and is soon lonelier then ever. This may not be the fate we may choose to face, but the sooner we realise the facts, we can put it aside and move on. The problem here is that often when one realises that all his life he has been actually dead and just merely existing, he attempts to rectify the problem further, further yet falling into the perils of denial and into the clutches of the one thing he feared his whole life- himself. For every time he got up and looked at the man in the mirror, he tried to change him to suit into the plastic mould others created for him. Yet, he never realised, that in life, we are more like clay figurines, delicate and fragile yet baring a distinct unique character.

We are so afraid that some day we will break and the bits of debris of ourselves will wound us so bad, we will be nothing more than a rotting corpse, so much so that we use masks, lots of them to hide not from others but from the voice within. Yet little do we realise that these debris of sand and clay can actually be moulded into a rare exquisite pearl for like the oyster we all have it within us to transform these bits of sand into pearls. But this can only be done when we have the courage to realise that we are not the glamorous corals that line the sea bed or the clever dolphins that roam oh so free.

To realise that we are but oysters, we are but ourselves with a potential and a natural beauty and purity within. This takes courage. The courage to accept and realise that really, we have nothing to loose for what did we bring to earth to loose? , and nothing to gain for what are we going to bring away when we die? Courage is not the absence of fear but the acceptance to realise there is something more important than that fear.

We as humans, are perhaps the most fearful creatures on earth, though we label ourselves as one of the most feared in the animal kingdom, yet another mask to hide us from ourselves. We fear everything. We say we fear death but deep down I think we fear life the most. We fear that at the end of the day when we shut our eyes for good, we will shut them with the realisation that we were actually dead all along.

Why do we make death out to be such a horrible dark thing equivalent to satanic controls? Why fear death, why cry at one's funeral when u really could not care to spend a thought with him or her when they were alive and kicking? Why shed buckets of tears and deem it mandatory and mock others or belittle perhaps another's true love for the person just because he didn't cry? I say it was he who bore no buckets who really truly loved the deceased for he knows he spent all his time with the deceased to gain a fruitful everlasting memory and the experience of some sort of pure love they shared so that now when he is gone he knows that really the deceased's soul is finally free and he as an individual has had a meaningful partner on his journey and quest of life. I say those buckets people force out are a mask, a mask to delude themselves from the reality which is that they never did all that was possible for the deceased in order to let him leave freely for after all if they truly did love him that unconditional love comes with no strings attached, and hence he is free to enter and leave your life, as ultimately all who enter and leave are like characters in our life, each bearing a unique purpose and meaning, retiring from it when their purpose is met. So what is the use of mourning their departure?

For example, when a close friend or boyfriend/girlfriend walks out of your life the common phrase we hear is that "he was never meant to be. It was never meant to be." I say quit the self pity act and wake up to reality. True, he and you may have had your own issues and as hard as it may be to swallow, he was put into your life to teach you something to make you stronger for that which does not kill you makes you stronger. Everyone leaves for forever is never. What doesn't leave is the memory, the joy and the love we experienced and shared. In the twisted sadistic realm of reality, it is the intangibles in our life that seem to bare the greatest significance.

Why continue to be the masked actors that we are, being like a rock merely existing. Shred the mask and show yourself. What you see is what you get and if others dont't get it, they are merely blinded by the foggy mist of life. As a Mayan legend goes, when man walked into a misty cave seeking some sort of deliverance, he was given a mirror, a mirror to truly see who he was and embrace the reality of his existence.

Like white stallions we all long to be free and liberated riding with the wind with our manes flying free, yet we often blame others, society, friends, family for restraining us for tugging at the reins on our backs without realising that the so called mighty horse rider can be toppled over for he is ultimately governed by his horse. Ride into the horizon, for we are not prisoners of fate or circumstance, we are prisoners of our own minds and deluded realities, we are prisoners of the masks that bind our true beauties, we are but prisoners of ourselves unless we choose to be free.

"Ah! make the most of what we yet may have, before we too into the dust descend.”

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