Brad MacDuff

I had the luck to play the role of Septimus Hodge in a production of Tom Stoppard’s “Arcadia” some years ago. Yesterday, part of a monologue came back to me. In it, Septimus is explaining to his pupil, Thomasina, why we should not grieve over the lost literature of the great library of Alexandria.

“Seven plays from Aeschylus, seven from Sophocles, nineteen from Euripides, my lady! You should no more grieve for the rest than for a buckle lost from your first shoe, or for your lesson book which will be lost when you are old. We shed as we pick up, like travelers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it. The missing plays of Sophocles will turn up piece by piece, or be written again in another language. Ancient cures for diseases will reveal themselves once more. Mathematical discoveries glimpsed and lost to view will have their time again.”

I was thinking, in particular, about his notion of “shedding as we pick up,” and realized that some people are incapable of this. They do not shed to gather more, but rather try to carry it all, do it all, be it all – everything to everyone. These are the people that suffer most. They overburden themselves, and beneath the weight of all they carry movement becomes impossible. Stagnation sets in. Spirits wither and mold. Life becomes a chore rather than a celebration.

Baggage is not meant to be carried forever.

All of these thoughts came together, as thoughts usually do, as I stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. Beneath me, stretching from horizon to horizon, was a procession of colorful fishing boats. Flags waved in the morning breeze and ribbons snapped from masts and railings. The fishermen were celebrating the birthday of Matsu, the goddess of the sea and shore. Music reached my ears across the distance, laughter and fireworks punctuated the morning. There were hundreds of boats, and thousands of men – all of them happy to be alive. Celebrating, gathering, and casting off.

In that moment it all made sense.

In that moment my arms were empty.