Shakespeare speaks
Where are my creators, my weavers of dreams, my muses and my misfits?
Have you not heard the call to the song in the air that speaks to your heart, your soul, your curiosity of better days?
Where have you hidden ..shrank to...while we wait in an audience of thousands upon thousands just to get a glimpse of greatness that you have dared yourselves to be?
Where are the catalysts of change that—we of your past—have made way for? We have laid out a carpet so red for we eagerly await your arrival, your remembrance of all you have come to be. Of you who you claim to be and such claims are granted just and true.
Where are the open eyes—still heavy with slumber— yet greet the new that which has never been seen before?
Where are my soldiers of adventure? Who fail to give attention to the hearsay of the mind that speaks in tongue of cannot.
Where are my fools—who carry nothing but joy and naivety—only to be taught wisdoms that grow the sage?
I call to you as many do. I call to you as many would.
I call to you to share in the glory of your mischief as you discover your desires and resurrect them from their locked chest beneath your earthly skins.
We know you by your names. We know you by your colors—that which are true and undiscovered but are bright.
We count you as stars—among a different sky—that is the same.
You are a sense of wonder the way your mask changes to change your desired reactions and effects that make you who you claim to be.
You are a sense of wonder in your vulnerable nakedness that depict the essence of an honest life.
You are unhidden from heaven—even though you hide from the earth.
Where are you? I ask and bid you to come forth and show yourselves for we anxiously await your entrance and your song.
We anxiously await your creations as they are molded in the simplest of acts.
We are humbled by your gracious invitation to join you in your lively endeavors and we wait at your door to be received by you if only for a brief moment that fulfilled dreams of both souls.
Where are my spinners of story and dance?
Where are my makers of magic?
Where do you keep your spells of intention that flow from you to me?
Where do you hide your alchemy, your experiments, your sacred laboratories of craft that in decades to come would be searched for like the chalice of the grail?
Where are the kings and queens, the gods and goddesses of a future that is immediately born of that which I have called you?
We see you. I see you.
I only call you by name that which you were called the moment of birth, that which has many meanings but is simply love.
I ask for the lost only to extend the message that you were found so I will ask again. I will ask you daily, weekly, monthly for if you hear the call you might answer, "I am here."
You are. You have arrived. You are here.
It is an honor. It is a delight. I welcome you to your stage—your presence a sight to behold.
Now what would you do? What greatness will you achieve? What a wonder. What a journey. What a fool. What a sage. What a weaver. What a maker. What a creator. It is never done. It is only ever begun.
- William Shakespeare
(transmitted by K on Oct 2021)
