A few weeks ago, a friend pointed out some lines from King Lear. Lear has been betrayed by two of his daughters, while the one he rejected, Cordelia, has come back from France to defend him. He and she learn that one of Lear's sons-in-law intends to imprison them. Cordelia wants to escape but Lear stops her.
"Come, let's away to prison. We two alone will sing like birds i' th' cage.
When thou dost ask my blessing, I'll kneel down
And ask of thee forgiveness. So we'll live
And pray and sing and tell old tales and laugh
At gilded butterflies and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news and we'll talk with them, too
Who loses and who wins, who's in and who's out
And take upon 's the mystery of things
As if we were God's spies."
Lear, not blamelessly, has been besieged on all sides; the picture he paints of prison would be a huge relief. No pressure, no attacks, no losses -- it's prison as a refuge. He and Cordelia will be completely reconciled and can spend their days telling stories, gossiping, and take the time to contemplate the mysteries of the universe. Ah, bliss...
To come in from the cold, to get out from under, to shake off all responsibility, to be taken in and taken care of - how often I've longed for that. I used to think that in some magical way, I could arrive at such a place and all would be easy, delightful, effortless. I know now that such a place can never exist because, no matter where I am, life keeps happening; one challenge is met and a new one begins. I am always coming a great distance in order to begin and so it will go to the end.
But there is a place of what, under the influence of Shakespeare, I'll call surcease. It's that expansive place beyond my conscious mind and I can be there for moments from time to time. But it's also in the search for those moments, in the effort I make to get quiet, to focus, to turn down the chatter occupying my mind. The journey, not the arrival, matters. Simply trying contains its own rewards.
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