The Third Act
Never particularly entranced by Arthurian legends, the version whereupon Guinevere cloisters herself in a convent - after the death of the King - did not evoke much emotion in me.
Today, that tale of old provokes my attention.
The first third of my life was spent being born, having a semi-nice childhood, a painfully stimulating teenagehood, and a wild ride through my twenties which included living in an ashram, breaking the rules of renunciation with a good looking male renunciate, bearing a child (in wedlock) and subsequently getting divorced.
The middle third of my life was spent with my King Arthur, or perhaps my Lancelot? He was both to me, which makes me a bit more lucky than that poor Queen, the infamous Guinevere. I never had to choose and lose.
Now comes Act Three - providing that the Grim Reaper doesn't see fit to take me before the traditional story arc is completed.
The ocean widens before me, and I carry on this voyage a sea trunk full of tricks: creative pathways filled with color and light - wandering the world over with a friend or two - possibly becoming a grandma - or reframing my house on the hill as retreat center and spending my days in prayer and contemplation (though not to repent like poor Guinevere but with the eye to enlighten).
On days like this when the glass is half full, I bless the air, the sun, the earth, and loving human beings for making life worth living. I can thank not only the teachings of the Buddha for this understanding, but CNN as well for providing the contrast, without which we could see nothing.