About
Mind you that this mask is nothing more than a mere median for a message. Mental and maniacal, more than my meaning carries multitude of markings to my main motive. Might I be a messenger or a mindful monk on a mediocre quest may be for some minute merit, though I carry no merry with my mindless mayhem. More to say, my motives are mysterious and perhaps misguided. Perhaps though I might be a memorable mentor to millions or more likely mutate more into a murky monster, mirrored after the masses of misunderstood morals and methods. Magical and mystical I am not; more of a mumbling mundane monolith mastering mortality as modestly as possible. Maku is my name.A little story to hopefully enlighten a fewSomewhere in Tibet were these two Buddhist monks. They have been praying in the mountains for several weeks and have made a vow of celibacy (A vow to not speak, touch, or talk to a woman). While on their way back to the temple, there was a woman in distress next to a rapid river. Rushing to the monks, she explained that she needed to get across, but there is no means and she cannot swim.
Without another word, one of the monks picked her up and carried her across the river. She thanked him as he came back on the other side and they continued on their journey.
Three days later, they finally made it back to the temple. It was then that the other monk finally said something. "I can't believe you broke your vow and carried that woman across the river!" Turning to his brother, the monk shook his head. "I dropped the woman off on the other side of the river. It is you who is still carrying her, brother."
Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)
We Wear the Mask
WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
Comments
Viewing 10 of 20 comments.