"We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep."
(Prospero in "The Tempest" by William Shakespeare)
At Shakespeare Under the Stars in New London last night, I was able to enjoy "The Tempest" without fear of my English professor giving an exam afterward. This time, I saw it in a different light, since I've been out of college for two decades.
My favorite line from the play, seen above, can mean many things. When Prospero realizes his own mortality, perhaps he is saying that what we do on earth really has no significance when we die. It's scary to think that life fades away like a dream.
Part of me would like to achieve something great. I'm an extroverted introvert who writes this blog, in part, because I want to give people hope. I've visited hundreds of churches and basilicas, and I've witnessed many things that cannot be explained which I attribute to the saints. And yet, you will not find me at weekend Mass.
I'm single with no children, so I'm not one of those people that can say they will live on in their son or daughter.
I'd like to believe that Shakespeare means that when we die, we will awaken from the dream of life into what is true reality.
He is called the Bard of Avon and the patron saint of bards was one himself.
St. Herve was born blind in 521. Accounts differ as to where he was from, but most say he was Welsh. His mother was a hermit and his father, Hyvernion, also a bard, died when he was young. St. Herve was raised by his uncles in Brittany, France.
Legend says that he was friends with a domesticated wolf and was a miracle worker known for curing animals. St. Herve was ordained an exorcist. He died in 556 and his feast day is June 17.
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