Pebbles, 9/11/1998

I found a pebble. That pebble moulded my hand and I followed closely. How 
strange were the patterns it created, that they could mould not only my hands, 
but also that which causes them to glide along the thin air in the manner
so familiar. Sometimes, for a brief moment, I would let them live their own 
lives as they deserve what occassional freedom I can give. I envy them as 
they never notice when it is finally taken away.
  That is what we are here for. To sit on our rich thrones and smile at
ourselves. For if anyone noticed it were not so, their existence would
become unnoticed and unwanted. Sometimes I wish my hands could realize that,
but they stare back silently.
  I reached out for another pebble. The smooth surface gleaming in the
moonlight. Captured light lying without expression in my hand. It never
sang or spoke to me, but only wavered slightly as if trying to escape
captivity.
  And in my mercy I gave it that which so many had lost. To lie at the bottom
of the stream it came from.