A Relay of Candles (Poetic Narrative)
A Relay of Candles
A candle is born, shedding light all around, dancing joyfully in spring. A beautiful long candle destined for a beautiful, enthusiastic journey forward. What a happy, bright event is the relay of candles, passed from one invisible hand to another! With each passing minute, the clock’s ticking engraves the pace of the relay upon the calendar of life.
Spring goes by without any young candle realizing that only three more seasons’ cards are left in the pack. The picking of one can be random, sometimes related to disposition, previous experiences, state of mind - or even faith. Fortunate are those who pick one season after another in the normal order. For each season burns the candle in such a different manner, at such a different pace! And many are those burning the candle at both ends!
Anyway, one has to pick and choose, inevitability of the rules to be followed. One wonders if they made the right selection, yet actions are evaluated only after the impact of their repercussions has become visible and has registered...
And the relay of candles is bound to at times shorten while dark intervals creep in unexpectedly—dark spots, empty positions, sorrow. Naturally, new young candles at the end of the relay light up bright and fresh, following the long queue pacing forth, taking one step at a time. The audience claps and cheers – or respectively weeps - as the relay of candles passes before them; they even place their bets:
"Whose candle will burn up first and whose will burn out last?
Who will struggle to keep theirs alive and have the strength or the power to light up yet another’s?
Whose hopes and dreams will last longer, and who will give willingly up? Whose light will weaken, fade and thus extinguish before long?"
The bets are placed, the winners rejoice and the losers grieve... Yet they know not the plain truth, which is bound to be revealed to them all at the final curtain call. Only few silently sit back and contemplate in awe and wonder. Those have come to the performance well-prepared, equipped with the playbill, having also consulted the usher for the optimal seat and are ready to take notes. Amidst the audience, they move unseen, as if invisible.
Yet not by everyone. Those who notice their presence call them "critics or even sages". They may be physically present, but mentally, they are often lost within their own world, finding this one too off-putting. One got to even vanish into thin air; yet the meticulous usherette found a piece of paper on his seat that wrote:
"In the roles assigned to us by destiny itself, who gets the somber lines and who dons the ludicrous mask? In the theatre of life, the stage has been set since the beginning of time for the drama to be played incessantly each day and each night, regardless of the alternating scenes - whether hilarious or mournful, either written by a contemporary Aeschylus or a Sophocles. The content of the scene remains a surprise to the unsuspecting audience, yet all acts, in their totality, are predetermined to irrevocably reach the sole and absolute certainty - the END!”
The usherette folded carefully that little piece of paper and put it in her pocket. With weary legs she went on to do her job, in her eyes lit a spark of enlightenment. She took a look at the audience, all were lost in their own world. Then she looked at the stage one last time. She resigned that very moment and set off to join the sage in his journey, still unknown to her.
...Meanwhile...
Another candle out...
Another candle in...
By Prof. Irene Doura Kavadia
17 May 2024
A candle is born, shedding light all around, dancing joyfully in spring. A beautiful long candle destined for a beautiful, enthusiastic journey forward. What a happy, bright event is the relay of candles, passed from one invisible hand to another! With each passing minute, the clock’s ticking engraves the pace of the relay upon the calendar of life.
Spring goes by without any young candle realizing that only three more seasons’ cards are left in the pack. The picking of one can be random, sometimes related to disposition, previous experiences, state of mind - or even faith. Fortunate are those who pick one season after another in the normal order. For each season burns the candle in such a different manner, at such a different pace! And many are those burning the candle at both ends!
Anyway, one has to pick and choose, inevitability of the rules to be followed. One wonders if they made the right selection, yet actions are evaluated only after the impact of their repercussions has become visible and has registered...
And the relay of candles is bound to at times shorten while dark intervals creep in unexpectedly—dark spots, empty positions, sorrow. Naturally, new young candles at the end of the relay light up bright and fresh, following the long queue pacing forth, taking one step at a time. The audience claps and cheers – or respectively weeps - as the relay of candles passes before them; they even place their bets:
"Whose candle will burn up first and whose will burn out last?
Who will struggle to keep theirs alive and have the strength or the power to light up yet another’s?
Whose hopes and dreams will last longer, and who will give willingly up? Whose light will weaken, fade and thus extinguish before long?"
The bets are placed, the winners rejoice and the losers grieve... Yet they know not the plain truth, which is bound to be revealed to them all at the final curtain call. Only few silently sit back and contemplate in awe and wonder. Those have come to the performance well-prepared, equipped with the playbill, having also consulted the usher for the optimal seat and are ready to take notes. Amidst the audience, they move unseen, as if invisible.
Yet not by everyone. Those who notice their presence call them "critics or even sages". They may be physically present, but mentally, they are often lost within their own world, finding this one too off-putting. One got to even vanish into thin air; yet the meticulous usherette found a piece of paper on his seat that wrote:
"In the roles assigned to us by destiny itself, who gets the somber lines and who dons the ludicrous mask? In the theatre of life, the stage has been set since the beginning of time for the drama to be played incessantly each day and each night, regardless of the alternating scenes - whether hilarious or mournful, either written by a contemporary Aeschylus or a Sophocles. The content of the scene remains a surprise to the unsuspecting audience, yet all acts, in their totality, are predetermined to irrevocably reach the sole and absolute certainty - the END!”
The usherette folded carefully that little piece of paper and put it in her pocket. With weary legs she went on to do her job, in her eyes lit a spark of enlightenment. She took a look at the audience, all were lost in their own world. Then she looked at the stage one last time. She resigned that very moment and set off to join the sage in his journey, still unknown to her.
...Meanwhile...
Another candle out...
Another candle in...
By Prof. Irene Doura Kavadia
17 May 2024
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