I found myself thinking this morning of the poster from when I was a child that said, “war is not healthy for children and other living things.” I wrote it on the front stairs and then asked myself the question, how do I contribute to the causes of war?” And so that I am not only asking what I must change or stop doing, I also ask myself, how can I foster peace?
Last night I went to see the National Theater UK’s simulcast (tape-delayed) of Helen Mirren performing in Ted Hughes’ translation of Racine’s Phedre at the Shakespeare Theater. The tragedy of Phedre is misinformation, misguided helpers, and passion that has gone beyond sweet engagement to maddened attachment.
A stage production is intimate and designed for the small audience of those present in the theater. When it is merely filmed (instead of being turned into a movie), it sometimes feels forced because it is watching a film of a stage production, instead of being invited in as one is when one is either at the stage production or the filming is done as a movie, which is designed to include the viewer in a manner for the film.
What was hard about watching the filming of the stage production, was being forced to have the camera’s and director’s perspective; there was no ability to turn my head and shift which part of the stage to give my attention. At the same time, I felt appreciative of the miraculous offerings of technology: the filming made something that is usually limited to those who can afford theater of that extraordinary quality and who are able to be in a certain place at a certain time available to tens of thousands around the globe, including me and my friend. In that way, the filming both took away the intimacy of being physically present, but simultaneously created a unifying experience for a much bigger group of people.
I was inspired to think about the limitations and differences among the perceptions of the characters, of the critics (talking about the play and the film), of the smaller, elite audience (the actual theater goers’ — I’ve been at that theater in London), of the technologically broadened audience, and of mine in response to the essence of the tragedy, the story and substance of the play, the delivery of the play, and my own life as informed by the play.
It seems an interesting lesson on many levels on how we can choose to live with our passions, how we can react to limits and changes in our ability to perceive our own selves and the world around us, and on how and what we invite in through the doors of our perception.
Daffodils and tulips have arrived in the shops. If you’ve forced bulbs (I didn’t this year), they are blooming (give or take a few weeks). The arrival of the Dutch flowers and the forced blooms lets us know that spring is soon to arrive. If you look carefully, you can see that the early bulbs are starting to come up. If you are lucky enough to have them growing in your garden or a neighbor (who wants to share), it is a great time to bring in forsythia and pussy willow cuttings for forcing.
How wonderful to enjoy these harbingers of spring in the last few weeks of winter. I get a similar feeling when I am given an assist to be able to do a yoga pose that will be out of reach for me to do by myself for some months or perhaps longer. When an assist opens me to an understanding of how I can grow, just as the arrival of the dutch bulbs and the forced flowers give an early reminder of spring, my heart opens. Given this inspiration, this understanding of the possibility of growth and flowering, I am inspired to turn around and share this delight with others. How could I not want to share?
At the Thillai Kali temple in Chidambaram, and at other temples I am sure, but that was where I particularly noticed this aspect, there is a mirror on the altar, so that one also sees one’s reflection when watching the abhisheka puja.
One is there, too, along with the priests and the gods—watching and a part.
