I don this narrow mask
to celebrate the spirit that unites us.
The spiral is a celebration,
a dance to share the most basic,
the most complex of that within us
from which we
To which we
(Of course, we never really left.)
The ripple never-ending,
the spiral of life.
We celebrate the end of the dry season.
The turning of the Wheel.
The dance that spins
As above, so below.
The rains return
as they always do.
Completing, and resuming
the infinite spiral.
Igbo mba mask, Nigeria. Photo by Pearl
Yee Wong, MSU Museum Collections.
I am honored to represent the outward flow from the inner, in a ripple that spreads eternally. My face is that of blank surprise, unadorned, with eyebrows raised, and lips ajar.
Your attention is drawn above my head. My face, even masked, is irrelevant. These patterns of triangles and squares and lines are but a frame for the spiral of life, emerging from the tall placard above my third eye. We know nothing, really, which is all we need to know.