Which Part Are You Playing?

Take a break! How can one not stop and ponder about life, given the depth and scope of the news, the politics, the financial turmoil, the decay of progress, the effluence attributed to civilization and yet not be scabbed by life's experiences?  You have to love that word "effluence," defined as the process of flowing outward, whether good or bad. Back on track - I find that taking in a splinter of the life of this planet in all the news forms to be a full time job, consuming of intellectual energy to decipher it, emotional energy by the end result of digesting it, and certainly not always hopeful; if one sees a forward and upward direction as progress we are skulking through the back alleys at this time, although we always retain the promise of a better tomorrow. Which made me think of Will! Will said it best, and I share. "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. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, 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 lined, 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 saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward 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." from William Shakespeare's 'As You Like It' (1600 AD) Stop and smell the poetry for a moment. There! Okay, resume your lives now... MisterWriter