And, Shakespeare, depicting tragedy,
What insight did Macbeth end with
In the twisted vines of self and soul
That overvaulting ambition distorted,
Deformed, defiled and condemned,
After he murdered his saintly guest
Kinsman and king, whose death cried out
With the grief of angels and cherubim,
Beyond the tender depths of nature,
That all heaven and earth would drown.
Did he, having fathomed the depths
Of evil, fathom before his end
The height and light of tragic truth,
That he’d been living his shadow-self,
Losing the real being that was his soul.
And more, very much more than this,
That his way was merely full
Of sound and fury, signifying nothing –
And thus within the darkest moment
Of tragedy, was this a saving grace?
And so his human tragedy
Is re-enacted again each time
We murder the Indwelling Trinity,
To gratify the urgings of shadow-self,
Strutting and fretting its futile hour
Upon the noisy, ambition-driven stage
Of a furious, stress-driven life,
And thus let loose the hell within
The festering soul, and like Macbeth,
Infect and plague the external world.
For are we not all (partying) party
To creating this great human illusion,
Flaunting a listless shadow-self,
Ambitious to fulfill its shadow-dream,
Each imposing his illusion,
When all the while our real self
Has no part to play in how we live,
Much less the Indwelling God in it –
Will mankind, before a tragic end,
Be praying for a final, saving grace?
From Shakespeare verses/selfhood verses 111021