Ecstasy in age
Bear with me for this one.
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 lin'd,
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 sav'd, 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. (As You Like It)
Shakespeare wasn't the first to make the connection between old age and being an infant, but his seven ages of man monologue is a good intro for those who aren't familiar with the concept:
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 lin'd,
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 sav'd, 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. (As You Like It)
I have often thought about what goes on in the minds of those without a developed form of communication (i.e. infants and very young children). Is it a meditative state? Is it Ishvara Pranidhana? Is it Samadhi? Is thought just a random succession of images? What is going on in there?
I don't pretend to know and I'm not sure of folks who do. But, to go back to Shakespeare, I wonder if that same state of total reception is again present in very old age. For those who again lose the abilities of language, of word formation (I see this happening in me sometimes, on a much more minor level), do they again enter a mindset similar to infants? In the most advanced stages of aging, the return to the "second childishness," is there a chance to once again be totally present in the moment? There isn't the same sense of acquisition as the first childhood; instead, it is a revisitation and a letting go.
I've thought that in a stage of infancy, we are closer to the "universal consciousness." Maybe, again in old age, we again close in on it.
I like to think so, at least.
