We do it every day, don’t we, Marcus? Walk down the crowded street, in the morning rush hour, completely invisible. The man with whom I did a tiny sidestep dance as our impatient courtesy tried to hurry on, or that lady who swayed and ducked under my umbrella, swearing under her breath, didn’t see me. And the young woman who handed me my coffee. She never even glanced at my face.
And yet that anonymity lets us be. Just our thoughts, walking us on a leash, as we swerve and stumble towards something familiar.
Maybe it is the reprieve we like, a break from wanting to be seen and heard and admired and liked. A few minutes of being with others who also want nothing more than their own space, hidden in plain sight, without their masks. But only for a while.
Perhaps we fear falling like that tree in the forest, without an audible thud to mark life… or death.
Think of stars imploding in their kaleidoscopic splendour, the opera we neither see nor hear. It might be that we aren’t the target audience.
the roar and the hush
as one wave describes the shore
to the next