Some kind of fool

Sitting alone in my loungeroom pathetically eating vegan lasagne I cried watching the ABC news. It wasn't the result of barefoot nuns and monks protesting for democracy, it wasn't the clear and shining affection of Tasmanian Myer employees lamenting the tearing down of the burnt and broken historic building. It was the ten second clip of Marcel Marceau moving his hands in an eloquent counterfeit of the sea.

He said his art was searching and speaking of man's struggle with love, life and death and I believe him. I long for higher purpose, I long to be a small light, a still and calling beacon for my own humanity. I wish for more than rattling around this city pulling the heavy need to be, even for moment, adored.