Owl |
The
Lion finds his courage, the Tin Man a heart, the Scarecrow has a brain after
all and Dorothy returns to Kansas with a new appreciation for her roots. What of the Wizard? What of the man behind the curtain? Is he relieved at no longer having to play a
role? Does he no longer feel the need to
portray the grand and glorious Wizard of Oz?
I think the discovery of his fraud meant only for him to move onto a new
stage. He will endlessly need the recognition
from others that he is what he intends himself to be. Yet, there are the moments of reflection when
he admits while alone with himself, “My life is little more than a wonderfully,
orchestrated show, produced for the benefit of others to believe.”
What
a wonderful story about yearning. Our
individual lives reveal a quest specific to ourselves. What a burden it is to live with our
shame. How ridiculous it feels to be a
cowardly lion. If only I could
love. If only I were smart. If only I could live happily in the
moment. The goals I’ve set for myself remain
always out of reach. This must remain a
secret, known only to myself. We greet with
a smile the faces about us while we tug and fuss at our nagging chains that are
caused by mistakes in DNA, all too human parents or the mystical doings of fate
and the obscure role orbits play with our lives from deep outer space.
The
good news is that we are not alone. We
all roll boulders endlessly up hills, only to have them always crash downward
to the point of our start. We never seem
to learn and we take up our futile task ever again. God has, indeed, done us in for the sin of
our conceit.
We
all face death alone. Give me relief,
Jesus. I’m sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in
service. If you feel you have dialed in error
please hang up and try again. I’m sorry… No! This
can’t be. Everything depends on my
getting through. I’m melting. I must speak to Jesus. Oh, God.
I am forsaken.
Hello. You are now rapidly approaching a lifeless
state. I have for you a bit of reassuring
news. Billions of people have died prior
to your demise. Now that you are mostly
gone billions more will follow you into death.
The great and small alike all die and are eventually forgotten. Think of it this way. You are about to join the fate of Frank
Sinatra, Bob Hope and Dinah Shore. Can
extinction really be so bad if it overtakes even those who were, in life, so
fortunate? Even the entire earth will
eventually be consumed and, with it, all our monuments to our ingenuity and
industriousness. Our art and great
thoughts will all be rendered meaningless.
The sun itself will wither. All
that is created is destroyed. But for
now it is your turn. Your last thought
ends in three, two, one.