Lady of Shalott
I don't really know why, but this has always been one of my favourite poems. In some way, I think I have always identified with the Lady of Shalott.
Once I even wrote a short story based on the poem. The one question that every member of the group asked me was "what is the curse?". These were excellent and some even well known authors, most had studied literature, and they did not know what the feared curse was. I realized I didn't know either. I had not even a hint. A vague awareness floated out there in the ether just beyond my grasp and no matter how I strained to reach I could not clasp my hand, and thusly my mind around the substance of the answer. I forgot about the quest and continued on.
That is until a few days ago. While walking, I listened, as I often do, to Loreena McKennit's The Visit album. Something was different today. I was two minutes ahead of my usual time when Lady of Shalott began to play, the word swimming from my ears into the emptiness of my cold dulled brain, when, instead of concentrating on my pace, I actually began to listen. Suddenly I knew the answer. I knew the curse the feared.
It wasn't that it wasn't in plain sight for all toi see. Tennyson had done an excellent job of shoiwing by ommission. It's simply that most of us would never consider this particular element of life to be a curse. Most consider it a blessing. Most strive to achieve it throughout their lives. The Lady of Shalott spent her entire life sitting in a small tower room watching life, or rather a hollow reflection of life, pass by in her mirror. This was her reality. An echo of the world, lacking substance, form, fullness and feeling. Of the trueness, the pains and sorrows and joys of life, she had no concept.
Then one day Lancelot cast his image upon her mirror and her heart. The curse had come upon her, cast by one innocent and unaware. What she feared most, love, had entered her life. Deprived for so long, her heart was not strong enough to bear the unfamiliar emotion. She died fulfilled, having known both the joy and sorrow of love, at least a small touch, but never meeting the object of her affection.
It is a sad story, though perhaps not all that unusual. All of us have at one time or another been afraid toi love or have known those who for whatever reason have completely shut themselves off from affection. I can't help but wonder what causes anyone to fear something so basic and essential to life and happiness, to balance.
I find myself reminded of a line from a Billy Crystal movie-- Billy Crystal's character and an older grizzled cowboy are sitting still on horseback on a hill looking down at a young woman hanging laundry, the sun glowing through her thin cotton dress exposing the figure god gave her. Billy asks tjhe older man, who's eyes are obviously filled with admiration for tghe lady, why he doesn't introduce himself. The answer--It doesn't get any better than this.
Once I even wrote a short story based on the poem. The one question that every member of the group asked me was "what is the curse?". These were excellent and some even well known authors, most had studied literature, and they did not know what the feared curse was. I realized I didn't know either. I had not even a hint. A vague awareness floated out there in the ether just beyond my grasp and no matter how I strained to reach I could not clasp my hand, and thusly my mind around the substance of the answer. I forgot about the quest and continued on.
That is until a few days ago. While walking, I listened, as I often do, to Loreena McKennit's The Visit album. Something was different today. I was two minutes ahead of my usual time when Lady of Shalott began to play, the word swimming from my ears into the emptiness of my cold dulled brain, when, instead of concentrating on my pace, I actually began to listen. Suddenly I knew the answer. I knew the curse the feared.
It wasn't that it wasn't in plain sight for all toi see. Tennyson had done an excellent job of shoiwing by ommission. It's simply that most of us would never consider this particular element of life to be a curse. Most consider it a blessing. Most strive to achieve it throughout their lives. The Lady of Shalott spent her entire life sitting in a small tower room watching life, or rather a hollow reflection of life, pass by in her mirror. This was her reality. An echo of the world, lacking substance, form, fullness and feeling. Of the trueness, the pains and sorrows and joys of life, she had no concept.
Then one day Lancelot cast his image upon her mirror and her heart. The curse had come upon her, cast by one innocent and unaware. What she feared most, love, had entered her life. Deprived for so long, her heart was not strong enough to bear the unfamiliar emotion. She died fulfilled, having known both the joy and sorrow of love, at least a small touch, but never meeting the object of her affection.
It is a sad story, though perhaps not all that unusual. All of us have at one time or another been afraid toi love or have known those who for whatever reason have completely shut themselves off from affection. I can't help but wonder what causes anyone to fear something so basic and essential to life and happiness, to balance.
I find myself reminded of a line from a Billy Crystal movie-- Billy Crystal's character and an older grizzled cowboy are sitting still on horseback on a hill looking down at a young woman hanging laundry, the sun glowing through her thin cotton dress exposing the figure god gave her. Billy asks tjhe older man, who's eyes are obviously filled with admiration for tghe lady, why he doesn't introduce himself. The answer--It doesn't get any better than this.
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