Sometimes, for no apparent reason, my ability to express myself verbally plummets to the very embodiment of the word “dumb”. Absolutely ridiculous, I know. Ah! But there I go again, making fun of myself. Now, cut it out while the rest of me tries to work things out.

(There are always two sides of me that bandy words back and forth. One of them is always sarcastic and mocking the other one critically and sometimes—only sometimes—illogically. The other one is sympathetic and very gullible, but she can be sweet enough when she isn’t pouting.)

So where was I? Right. Well, I found exactly or almost what I am feeling in Shakespeare. Odd? Yes. Entirely. Brutus’ lines kept running through my head today (and walking through an empty house last night). There are only a few reasons why I would really like Shakespeare and one of them is because of his avid study of human nature. He doesn’t always portray it in the most flattering or innocent ways, but there are some pieces that are almost hidden in his plays that made me gasp at the accuracy of his judgement.

Cassius: Brutus, I do observe you now of late:
I have not from your eyes that gentleness
And show of love as I was wont to have:
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

--Brutus:--Cassius,
Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am
Of late with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself,
Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors;
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved—
Among which number, Cassius, be you one—
Nor construe any further my neglect,
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Cassius: Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;
By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

Brutus: No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself
But by reflection, by some other thing.

Cassius: 'Tis just:
And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,
That you might see your shadow. I have heard
Where many of the best respect in Rome,—
Except immortal Caesar!—speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Brutus: Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?

Cassius: Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear;
And since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I, your glass,
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself which you yet know not of.


Of course, there is definitely more to the dialogue to that because Cassius’ and Brutus’ characters develop much more fully and take not entirely different ways. But that is a good picture of how I’m feeling.

To those who dislike poetry, I am sorry for you: ) But it was an incredible thing to be walking through my house last night trying not to scream and suddenly Brutus’ voice was in my ear, with lines so rhythm’d and exact that I felt he might as well have been standing behind me.