Tea With The Mad Hatters

McBeth:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more.
It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

I think anyone would agree that this is probably one of Shakespeare's most depressing soliloquys. But, as Woody Allen is funny because what he says is truth, Shakespeare is depressing.

I had once written on this blog about forever, where I had concluded that "Now, in our mortal youth, forever is a naive soul". http://teawiththemadhatters.blogspot.com/2010/02/forever.html

I was disillusioned with the fathom of no sand running out of the hourglass. But, we are constantly disillusioned with the sand while it is running out. Our minds are constantly wrapped in the next grain of sand because this grain of sand, or this moment, holds emptiness for the moment, but too much possibility for the future.

So, how can we grasp a grain of sand to hold unto while time keeps running out?

Derrick Brown has the right idea:

"a sky flush with moon
opened up like a ballroom
and her kiss broke the spine of the night
paralyzing the moment
into our skulls,
forever."

-The Uncaptured Orchastra, Derick Brown