Behind the golden temple lies the strings of the grand puppet. Pay no attention to the shadows walking around behind these eyes. That they are, is what they are...staring into the depths of your hidden self; so hidden you probably won't discover it's there until..... It's a blessing; its a curse; its the way it is. A clam has a shell, a turtle has a shell, a bullet has a shell; conversely, so do people. But what people don't discover until they need it is the other shell — a skeleton below the shell burried beneath and in between all the fragile softness of our mortality.
Even the brain has a shell, the skull. I was watching an episode of CSI last week and they had found a young woman who had fallen from the side of a cliff. Nothing unusual until I glance back to watch them discovering her brain 6 feet away up the hill from the body in perfect condition. I can't say the same for the shell. But the turtle cannot leave its shell....we are bound to ourselves for the duration of our termination. Indeed we require our shells to survive; but they also ensure our death. Death owns the highways Life built and travels them recklessly perfect. Isn't perfection oddly cruel... Maybe its just poetic.
Glad my shell is inside....
1 comment:
You know, I could have lived the rest of my life without that image of a smooshed turtle in my head.
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