An idle dream?

Was up late tonight, couldn't sleep.  And though a weird twist while in SL the subject of Shakespeare came up in a conversation.  I admit, I am something of a fan of the Bard's work.  I have been since I discovered a thick book with this bald dude on the binding in my dad's library.  More recently I've really enjoyed Kevin Branagh's film adaptations.  If you are not into the Bard, you might recognize Branagh as the Director of the recent Thor film.

And whilst having this conversation, two soliloquy's came to mind, that seem most appropriate for those I've met in SL.  One is Puck's epilogue from Midsummer Night's Dream.

” If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber’d here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.”

This seems especially appropriate for those who somehow think of SL as a game, or illusion, something with no RL impact.  But there are those who see in SL a dream of a different sort.  They are often people who are tortured by their RL limitations.  And to those, perhaps the ever so famous speech by that young and gloomy prince, Hamlet, may strike a note.

"To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
The Oppressor's wrong, the proud man's Contumely,
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay,
The insolence of Office, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare Bodkin? Who would Fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveller returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of Resolution
Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their Currents turn awry,
And lose the name of Action."

To think, these words were penned around 400 years ago, and still have such power.  Words, ideas, emotions, feelings, all are ephemeral and amorphous things.  But how many great and sweeping changes have they birthed into our world over the ages?  From Gilgamesh to Beowulf, Shakespeare to George Lucas, Sargon to Saddam...

One should never confuse that which is not physical, with that which is not real.