They say we’re just passing through this place…
that we won’t be here again.
That there’s scenery along the way, but it doesn’t matter.
That there’s cheap clothing and expensive clothing, but we are buried in rags and our bones turn to dust, so what’s the Big Deal … Armani vs Value Village?
They say that no one really knows our journey except We Who Walk It … they say that no one ever really hears what we say, except We Who Say It [ and half the time we’re not listening anyway ], so … what’s all the Noise About. Anyway.
Is Anyone Listening?
They say that No One every goes “back”; that we all go forward only. There is no going back. There is no “back”. You turn around and the cozy home you left is a pillar of salt, or an empty lot, or mummified cat left by a Pharaoh to some unknown Goddess. “Back” is not a word that exists in many languages.
They say we’re just passing through this place: walking determinedly or dancing. Or sometime stumbling. Or a Silly Walk like Monty Python, or a Handicapped walk, like a Frog whose legs were lost in a Romantic French Restaurant … But it’s our very own Walk. And do we LIKE IT, they ask, with that funny Psychotherapist Look in their eyes, DO WE LIKE IT.
Do we like this Little Walk in the Park, this Very Short Walk, this Momentary Walk Under the Aboriginal Skies, this Pastel Walk in a Field of Dreams, this Halting and Struggling Uphill Climb to some Temple we hope exists at the Very Peak of The Tibetan Mountain of the Dead …
They say we’re just Visitors Here. The guests of some Unknown King. Rented Vehicles and False Passports. Secret Agents who have forgotten their Assignment.
And the Dome of Silence is lowered once again. And * Ah Yes * now I remember my assignment. Smell the Colors, Water the Flowers. Nourish the one Seed that bears the Sweetest Fruit.
… and Taste
… this Fragrance
… called “Magic”