MEDITATION 105

As I sit here by my candle, I am looking out of my kitchen window at the drab grey sky louring over my garden on this nondescript autumn day. So to cheer myself up, I am thinking back to a beautiful golden sunset I experienced last week. Those of you who read these pages, will know that I do like my sunsets. My twilights too. They echo within me now that I have reached my twilight years. The sun has not yet set over me, but when it does, I hope it will be a golden one.

The radiant sunset I experienced was over the River Thames near Hampton Court. As I stood at the top of the pathway down to the river itself and looked down on the swathes of green glistening in the sunlight below me, I felt transported back in time. Ahead of me was an elegant rotund building with a dome and portico framed by tall trees and hedges. The grey dome shone in the sunshine. In front of the building was the green itself which stretched down to the river. The river itself was resplendent in the light, its waters surfaced with silver. On the green some boys were playing with wooden swords. Or were they limbering up before they practiced with real ones?

It appears I had chanced upon an 18th Century enclave. The scene could be the subject of an oil painting of the period. All that was missing perhaps, was a small dog, possibly a spaniel, scampering at the heels of the boys. Possibly there could be a small sail boat skimming the waters of the river too and a lone angler fishing from the bank. A girl on a swing hanging from the boughs of a tree near the portico might complete the charming scene. In my mind I listened for the clip-clop of a horse drawing a carriage approaching behind me. But there was none. Only the persistent mechanical drone of cars, lorries and buses came to my ears.

Actually I had walked down to the path from a bus stop. From where I stood, I was viewing Garrick’s Green, named after the star 18th Century actor, David Garrick (1717-1779). The elegant domed building was built by the actor himself as a Temple to Shakespeare. It now houses a small museum of pictures and artefacts relating to him and is called Garrick’s Temple. Over the main road, which is now a main thoroughfare to Heathrow airport, is the large mansion, Hampton House, which he occupied and developed as his summer villa and weekend haunt when he wasn’t appearing on the stage at Drury Lane in London. The mansion is now apartments. Originally the lawns would have stretched from the villa to the river and of course, minus the modern road traffic and airplanes overhead, it would have been a quiet country retreat for Garrick from the hurly-burly of the London theatre scene.

The boys with the wooden swords were rehearsing a scene (or attempting to!). As I walked down the sloping path to the Green, I could see other boys rehearsing too on park benches or standing and reciting their lines across the river. Sadly there were no ducks or swans to play to. They were students from Richard Challoner School in New Malden where I worked for many years. There in the sunlight by the river they were engaged in their final rehearsals for a Shakespeare evening that was taking place in Garrick’s Temple. I was there to help with rehearsals and to take part too along with some members of staff.

I have been past the Temple so many times on the way to the airport and have always wanted to pay a visit. Now here I was not only visiting but also performing there, thanks to Leigh, my successor in the Drama department, who organised the event.

The Temple, being small, is an intimate place to perform in and has excellent acoustics. Sometimes concerts take place there, apparently. The performing area was at the opposite end to the entrance, in front of an imposing statue of Shakespeare himself in a raised niche which is the focal point of the interior. I would like to comment that Shakespeare was looking down benignly upon the young performers, but he was paying no attention to them, looking away to the right as if in the midst of creating.

The rest of the room was filled with chairs for the audience and every chair was filled. I felt quite proud of the students as the audience were so close to them and they could see them clearly as it wasn’t possible for the lights to be dimmed. It didn’t seem to put them off at all.

A warm glow permeated the room during the performance. As I sat in the back row of the audience, I wondered how the room would have looked by candlelight in Garrick’s time. The warmth and the glow would have been not too dissimilar, I imagine. I have sometimes spoken in my meditations of the invisible circle between the performer and the audience in a successful performance. Well here we were, performers and audience, actually within a circular building! However, I will not comment on whether that invisible circle was achieved as I was a performer myself.

It was fitting of course that we were performing Shakespeare in Garrick’s Temple to Shakespeare, not only because of the building but because of David Garrick himself as he was the pre-eminent Shakespearean actor of his time. As I sat in the back row of the audience, waiting to perform Sonnet 29, I looked up to the domed ceiling and then around the walls filled with Garrick memorabilia and then back to the students performing a scene from ‘Romeo and Juliet’ with the large statue of Shakespeare behind them.

As I did so, the thought came to me that we were all part of a tradition, an acting tradition of playing Shakespeare. Garrick had been part of that tradition, nearly three centuries ago, which he handed on to others and which I, in my own small way, imparted to my own students over the years. One of those was Leigh who is also handing that tradition on to his own students and here they were performing in Garrick’s building.

Just for a moment that tradition was tangible as if hovering in the air. I saw my career as part of a bigger picture. And for a brief moment too I felt a little proud that I was part of that tradition. Then the moment evaporated as it was time for me to perform my sonnet.

I also performed a speech by Prospero from ‘The Tempest’: ‘Our revels now are ended’. I had played the role with my students for my retirement performance in 2017. On this occasion, I fluffed a line and covered my mistake by repeating an earlier one.

I am sure Garrick must have done the same sometimes. Shakespeare too when he was on stage, for that matter.

Ave atque Vale

Neilus Aurelius

PS: Incidentally I have decided to become a volunteer at Garrick’s Temple! It is open on Sundays in the summer from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m. www.garrickstemple.org.uk

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River Thames

Hampton Court

Garrick’s Green

David Garrick (1717-1779)

Garrick’s Temple

Shakespeare

Heathrow

Drury Lane

Richard Challoner School

New Malden

Theatre Performance

Shakespeare Sonnet 29

”Romeo and Juliet’

’The Tempest’

Meditation 60

I have been thinking about the stained glass window again, as I sit here by the steady flame of my candle. In my last meditation, I mentioned a visit to the beautiful church of St Pierre in Montmartre in Paris several years ago. I explained how the panes of different colours in a stained glass window which I saw there reminded me of all my friends and loved ones. The window also reminded me that I am not alone. Isn’t this one of the positive features of these long months of lockdown and uncertainty, that we have been reminded that we are not alone, and that we have all been working our way through this most difficult of times together?

However, as I reflect upon it now, that stained glass window has taken on another meaning. The window is me. It is myself in all the different facets of my life, including my relationships and friendships of course. I have also come to realise that at certain times in my life, I have been polishing one pane in that window at the expense of others.

This is certainly true of my career, enjoyable and fulfilling as it has been. Because I have had a long career in mainly one school (with only one year in another one!) and especially because for over two thirds of my thirty- seven years there, I ran my department on my own, I came to be defined by my career. There were times when work was in charge of me rather than the other away around. It is a common mistake if you are committed to your occupation to a high level: call it a vocation, if you will. Perhaps this was exacerbated by living alone, without a partner. In other words, I was polishing that one pane in the window until the glass was wearing thin, or rather I was. It was part of my mid-life crisis when I became 50 years old, and I am sure others have had a similar experience too.

At that time, during the crisis, I became aware of being too consumed by my career and then I began to polish a few more panes of glass in my window and to lead a more integrated life. I was able to develop this further in my final years at the school when I relinquished my role as head of department and became a part time member of staff and, as a result, had more spare time. Then, after my retirement, I continued directing and going into school as necessary with more spare time still.

Nevertheless, I still felt defined by my role in school. I was still polishing that pane of glass to some extent. I couldn’t stop myself. It was a habit with me. Moreover, it had become an image of myself. It is a difficult image to shake off. I did not realise how ingrained it was in my consciousness until I finally left the school last February.

I call it my ‘King Lear’ syndrome, after Shakespeare’s tragic hero, who though he gave up the throne, could not give up being King. ‘Aye, every inch a King’ he says in his madness on the heath in the storm. I do not think I am slipping into madness or have been guilty of his rages for that matter, but the problem remains: retirement can be tough if you are defined by your work role or become aware that you are and then try to divest yourself of it, to start a new life. A friend said to me, ‘It is difficult to live in the shadows, when you are used to the limelight!’

You may remember that the window I described in my last meditation was of a modern, abstract design. It was not dominated by a scene from the Bible or an incident from a saint’s life, as stained glass windows in churches normally are. There might be intricate foliage etched around the edges of the scene or in a bigger window, smaller scenes from the Bible or the saint’s life in squares or roundels might decorate the top and bottom of the main picture.

Perhaps my own personal window would also be dominated by one scene in the centre: Neil, with a large copy of Shakespeare in his hands and a group of totally attentive students at his feet. Or Neil, holding a script whilst directing a couple of eager students in a scene. It wouldn’t be a window of Saint Neil – I am definitely no saint. Neither would it be a stained glass window of a school production when I played Lady Bracknell in Oscar Wilde’s ‘Importance of Being Earnest’!

But no: the window that impressed me was not dominated by one image. In fact there was no one image at all: it had an abstract pattern and the glass was multi-coloured and of different shapes and sizes. It was multi-faceted as we all are, if we really look at ourselves.

I have recently been enjoying a beautiful pink camellia shrub in my garden. It is near my kitchen window. The flowers tend to last for a month or so and are fading now. Their pale pink blooms will soon be gone for another year. So I have been savouring them in their delicate glory. I inherited the shrub when I first moved in, 27 years ago. The flowers look pink from a distance, but when I look at them more closely, some of the blooms are a hybrid of a lighter and a darker shade, so dark it is almost red. There was one flower this year that was completely dark pink.

I pick them and put them into tiny vases on my kitchen table, which gives me the opportunity to really examine them. Actually, the petals are not completely pink. They have a thin white border and, if you look really closely, behind the pink of each petal is a white membrane making an intricate variegated pattern. At the centre of the flower is a deep golden stamen. So they are not just pink at all.

Just as we are not just one thing as individuals. Hopefully this last year will have enabled us to sit back and reflect on ourselves a little and may have led us to appreciate that there are many different facets to our lives, other than the persistent drives that fuel our interior selves; that make us deaf and blind to the truth of ourselves in all its stained glass splendour.

Ave atque Vale – Hail and Farewell – until the next blog!

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A selection of previous meditations is also available in audio form as ‘Meditations of Neilus Aurelius’ ASMR on YouTube.

I would also value any feedback on nzolad53@gmail.com or my Facebook page or Twitter.

Many thanks

Neilus Aurelius

Meditation 52

Happy New Year, dear reader!

As I sit here writing my first meditation of this year, I am gazing at two candles. One has a steady flame and the other a weak and flickering one. They arouse in me the conflicting emotions we are going through in this third lockdown. The weak and wavering flame brings to my mind the horrific trail of tragedy and suffering caused by the lethal and contagious second virus and all the fears and uncertainties that accompany it. The steady flame reminds me that vaccines have now arrived to combat it accompanied by a solid hope for the future. In these bleak times, mirrored by the gloomy weather, we must remember St Francis’ words: ‘All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the flame of a single candle’ – the candle of hope.

Since the year began, I have been getting through lockdown by reading books given me by friends at Christmas. A rare instance has occurred in my reading: chapters in a book I am reading have been mirrored by current events. The book is ‘Shakespeare in a Divided America’ by James Shapiro. Shapiro is an English professor at Columbia university and has written several popular books about Shakespeare and his plays as well as fronting his own BBC series. In his book he explores the enduring influence of Shakespeare on his country, and not only on its actors, directors and writers but also on its politicians and different classes of society. It is a fascinating read and shows how productions and approaches to the plays have also been influenced by the events of the day from the early 1800’s to the present.

In his opening chapter, he describes a particular production of ‘Julius Caesar’ at length. The production took place in the summer of 2017 during Donald’ Trump’s first year of office. It was staged in the 1,800 seat open air ‘Delacorte Theater’ in New York’s Central Park. The play was presented in modern costumes and with a modern setting, actually not so much modern as contemporary and totally up to date. Caesar was presented as a thinly veiled Donald Trump and was apparently a meticulously detailed portrayal by Greg Henry, who like Trump is tall and who sported a mane of blond hair. Some of Caesar’s plebeian supporters (like Trump’s) wore red baseball caps. The caps had ‘Make Rome Great Again’ written on them.

In the play Caesar is assassinated in the Senate with only the members of the senate present. The people of Rome are going about their business elsewhere. In this production, apparently the director seated some of them in the audience so when Caesar was murdered, they stood up and shouted out in shock, anger and outrage and mimicking Trump supporters. As you probably know, after the murder, Mark Antony gives an oration over the body of Caesar in the Forum, inciting the people to violence against the conspirators and murderers. The mob runs amok in the streets and in a short but brutal scene they beat an innocent man to death. He is Cinna the poet, whom they mistake for Cinna the conspirator. When he pleads his identity to them, they don’t care anyway and bludgeon him in their bloodlust.

I little imagined that a few days after reading this chapter, similar scenes would be played out in the U.S.A’s own Capitol in Washington. Yet again a mob armed with makeshift (and real) weapons was running amok and storming the Capitol. They were not incited by another Mark Antony but by another Caesar himself, who had not been assassinated himself but his hopes of re-election had (and his ego too, if that is possible). They were making their voices heard in the most destructive and violent way.

The director of the production I have briefly described above was Oskar Eustis. He gave a speech at the curtain call of the first performance. In it he remarked that ‘like Drama, Democracy depends on the conflict of different points of view. Nobody owns the truth. We all own the culture.’

His words greatly affected me. The conflict of different points of view, indeed freedom of speech, is not about who shouts loudest or who clogs the media most effectively with lies and unsubstantiated false information. Our media, as ‘Macbeth’ says ‘is smothered in surmise.’ Fake news, real fake news (not Trump’s version) is another contagion as lethal as the current virus.

Consensus and compromise are now seen to be the weak option and unworthy of a nation’s so called ‘sovereignty’, as has been sadly evident in this country in the last four years of Brexit. Similarly anything other than an entrenched position is seen as weakness. And yet our government has been forced to change their minds and their policies by the onslaught of the virus. Entrenchment and an pandemic do not mix.

In November, I attended an online seminar about the U.S. election results, given by my Oxford college and led by a panel of American alumni who had pursued political careers eventually after graduating. The consensus of the panel was that American politics has become strongly polarised as a result of the Trump years of administration. There was now no room for a middle ground. They felt that hopefully this may change and Politics in the US may become less relentlessly combative if Biden ushers in a quieter and less aggressive (and impulsive) administration.

Trump’s four year tenure of the White House could be summed up by a quote from another Shakespeare play, ‘Measure for Measure’:

‘But man, proud man

Dressed in a little brief authority,

Most ignorant of what he’s most assured,

His glassy essence, like an angry ape

Plays such fantastical tricks before high heaven

As make the angels weep.’

These lines not only apply to Donald Trump, of course. They could apply to other political leaders past and present. They could also apply to any of us who are in a position of authority over others.

How do these ‘fantastical tricks’ by those in authority originate? Perhaps the answer lies back in ‘Julius Caesar.’ In the play, Brutus says of Caesar:

‘The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins

Remorse from power.’

In Brutus’ comment, ‘remorse’ means mercy: if mercy is separated from power then greatness is abused or diminished. In other words, when the gaining and exercise of power is more important than the needs of the people. People should come first. Power should be used to care for and protect the people not to subjugate or exploit them. Or use them to bolster up a monstrous ego trip.

In these last ten months, we have been potently reminded of how fragile human life is. In the last two months since the U.S. Election, we have also been reminded how fragile democracy can be.

Ave atque Vale – Hail and Farewell – until the next blog!

If you are enjoying my blog, and have not already done so, please sign up below to receive notification of each new blog by e mail. Just add your e mail to ‘Follow’ as it pops up!

And please do pass on the blog address to others who may be interested.

A selection of previous meditations is also available in audio form as ‘Meditations of Neilus Aurelius’ ASMR on YouTube. I would also value any feedback on nzolad53@gmail.com or my Facebook page or Twitter.

Many thanks

Neilus Aurelius