The world is a mask that hides the real world.
Thatâs what everybody suspects, though the world we see wonât let us dwell on it long.
The world has ways - more masks - of getting our attention.
The suspicion sneaks in now and again, between the cracks of everyday existenceâ¦the bird song dips, rises, dips, trails off into blue sky silence before the note that would reveal the shape of a melody that, somehow, would tie everything together, on the verge of unmasking the hidden armature that frames this sky, this tree, this bird, this quivering green leaf, jewels in a crown.â¦
As the song dies, the secret withdraws.
The tree is a mask.
The sky is a mask.
The quivering green leaf is a mask.
The song is a mask.
The singing bird is a mask.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
the passion of conviction
Mystery Interlocutor's mad tale of Ice Age falcon worship seemed to echo from my cubicle throughout the silent dormitory.
A curious rant, but falcons and falconry tended to attract cranks and crackpots, I had learned in the years of my research.
I'll admit it: I'm hooked.
What next?
A curious rant, but falcons and falconry tended to attract cranks and crackpots, I had learned in the years of my research.
I'll admit it: I'm hooked.
What next?
