It’s just Halloween.
I have my Bob Dylan mask on.
Yeah everybody wear the mask but how long will it last…
It’s the week before Halloween.
Got my Yoga for Cynics mask on…
I wear masks under masks…under masks under masks…until I don’t know myself where they end…or begin, for that matter…or which mask is doing the thinking about it…or if there’s anything underneath at all…or if that’s really a problem.
Maybe, a different perspective is required, coming, perhaps, from a different mask—they turn different ways, work in both directions…some cool like Bogart, others sputtering like Don Knotts…and all look different to others than they do to me.
People say I’m laid-back, even happy-go-lucky. Once, long ago, a close friend for years said she couldn’t imagine me angry, when it seemed I’d been positively seething for all the years I’d known her.
More recently, a very smart older gentleman I didn’t know so personally said I was so up-beat he couldn’t imagine me depressed or unhappy about anything. Then, I suspect that wily old coot may have known more than he let on, seeing through my masks and telling me through his own up-beat and genial mask that he wasn’t buying it.
But what if those masks are actually the deeper ones…and rage, hurt, and reflexive irony merely thin, crinkly layers of onion skin, waiting to be sloughed off?
hot on elephant
July’s Full Moon in Capricorn: The Heart wants what it Wants. The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. How to Love a Woman who Scares You. Our Soulmates are Rarely Who We Expect. I Still Think of You. Men, Let’s Stop Fooling Ourselves: Size Matters. To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD. How My Sister’s Death Transformed my Self-Perception.