Weird Dream

Weird Dream

Seems strange, really. To awaken in the midst of a dialogue with someone, a woman for sure, whose visage one cannot make out, who is dressed quite formally as she sits across from me at a small round table -- wrought iron, I think, with a glass top, 

And I’m sharing with her my thoughts about Prince William and his grandmother of all things. She is British herself I think, by her demeanor, and her interest is piqued by the topic, as expressed by an outsider.

She listens intently, though taken aback somewhat, much as I was when I realized it was I speaking. But it seemed natural to share this observation, and comfortable I was doing it.

Elizabeth, the eldest and very much her father’s daughter has been Queen so long it seems like she has never not been. In my monologue,I muse about Prince William and his good fortune at having been the son of Diana, a rare gift to the English people and about her gift to him (and, of course, Harry). 

I admire the queen for being the Queen, for accepting her lot in life and fulfilling her role in the context of her nation and her society. It was never easy, yet she did it with ease, and when she couldn’t be at ease with it, she strove to deal with it by acting in ways that seemed to her the proper ways a queen should act. She was never, I went on, a person with her own identity playing a role, fulfilling duties. Queen Elizabeth is her role and it is who she is -- no separation.

William, on the other hand is William, the boy who became a man with a strong sense of self, a reflection of his own humanity, separate from the roles he now fulfills and those destiny has laid out for him. William is William first, and then Prince, and both identities are comfortable to him. He fulfills his role with aplomb and enjoys it immensely. He is open and caring, he shares of himself with the radiance of his mother. 

His grandmother is her role and she lives it every moment of her life, controlled as it seems by working every waking moment to anticipate what the personage should do next and then do it, to be what she should be, what the role demands.

Whomever was seated across from me as I rambled, listened quietly, taking in my words and giving them a respectful hearing, non-judgmentally in a British sort of way, non committal, poised without emotion. I think I may never know her true thoughts but I know she has them, and she holds them firmly. She also holds them to herself. As for my thoughts, I am amazed to have had them at all.