I dropped my kid off in the dark to catch the bus that will take her and her classmates to Washington DC. On the way home, the sky lightened, and it was the particular kind of spring light that makes everything look impermanent. Houses and buildings took on a cardboard quality, like they were a set on a stage just waiting for actors. And maybe it’s because there are so few of them at this time of day, but the cars seemed impossibly scooter-like, as if no one would dare take them farther than the stretch of road I could see before me.
I love this feeling, like it’s all put into place as a laboratory or classroom in which we learn. As though the birds are placed on branches and directed to start chirping. As if the things we worry over and gnash our teeth over are nothing, really, in the end. As if today is all that matters.
It reminds me of the last season of ‘Lost’ (which is the best season of television ever and I will fight you if you say it’s not). As the characters try to make their way off of the island, Jack insists that their actions and choices are critical not only to them but to their friends and the larger world. Desmond thinks differently. He has had a vision in which he’s reunited with his loved ones and he knows there’s nothing he can do for better or worse to change that outcome, so he’s peaceful, trusting, even irresponsible. In the end, they’re both right. Our actions do matter, and it will all be resolved for good in the end. I love that.
If “all the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players,” as Shakespeare wrote, it does seem to take some pressure off of our shoulders and at the same time open our hearts and eyes to creatively consider that anything is really possible in this day before us. Maybe today we will fight the dragon and win, or some golden opportunity will come to our door, or maybe we will simply sit watching the sun slowly rise and see the beauty of it all, and nod in agreement, and bow our heads.