The Master must be a Servant

What can the meaning and purpose of life be?

dancer1.jpg (458000 bytes)

I dance.

You dance.

The tears are shed,
blood is spilled,
laughter echoes
across the stage
of space and time.

After each dance
we take a bow.

A lifetime spent.
We begin again.

It’s the same play:

A versatile troupe
of carbon based life,
the death and resurrection show.

Again, again, again…
the curtain rises,
the curtain falls,
take a bow.

face2.jpg (313150 bytes)

What can the meaning and purpose of life be?

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We do it all,
play out all the infinite possibilities.

A flash of light.

A play of shadows
in the Anxiety Dream Theater.

face3.jpg (171465 bytes)

I dance.

You dance.

It happens
spasmodically, whether we want it or not, the show goes on…
and on….
and on….

We get danced whether we
like it or

Like a satanic record,
is there something riding
in the spasmodic current of

Is there a voyaging eye?

Is there a voyaging I?

Is something stirring
in the Anxiety Dream Theater?

dancer2.jpg (468016 bytes)

It is not the play itself.
The human play is a carrier current.

I dance.

But who carries who?
The master or the servant?
The show must go on.
A flash of light.
A shadow.

The dance ensues.

theater5.jpg (655193 bytes)

Smoke and mirrors,
smoke and mirrors.


Send any comments, suggestions or questions to

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