I sometimes wonder if the world really is a stage? Some large, unfathomable stage beyond our comprehension. And, as Bill Shakespeare lamented, we are all players, doing our bit and then fading to black.
But my thought is how do we even know what the play is? Or what our parts are? How do we know that the janitor down the corridor doesn't have a bigger part to play simply by his own existence then you will ever have yourself? Simply because of his personality? Or the fact that he shined a certain tile that will cause someone to slip which will start a law suit that will herald the change of certain laws that will in turn eventually lead to large scale corruption, accusation, nuclear war and the extinction of the koala?
And if life is a play, is there an audience? Is the play set by a script we can't understand, forming our destiny even as we think ourselves free agents? Or are we free to do and be as we wish and the helter-skelter of our lives merely a rushing of ants that has no consequence to it at all?
How do we ever know?
Well that's enough philosophy, I'm off to have some grapes, which at least I know are here, predestined or otherwise!
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