Summer

Last summer brought a lasting warmth that lingered on through the autumn chill that followed. A sudden carefree existence balmed in the midst of the daily routine that threatened to smother all unplanned moments. Summer had come and passed. The carefree existence ended as the autumn chill decended. This past weekend, San Francisco brought back two days of summer. For two days, life was simple and carefree again. The only worries were about having enough time and how to get home in one piece at night.

San Francisco presented herself in beach, street and building. The Bridge was veiled in fog, shy to the photographer’s eye who had to aim elsewhere this time. Yet, the notorious hillside streets brought ample compensation. Surely, here must be the 8th wonder of the world: The steepest streets drivable by car. Our’s barely made it to the top of one block – flat out in first gear. This must be the testing ground for brave manuel shift drivers – our’s was wisely, an automatic.
The cable car of San Francisco had me puzzled – where was the mountain? Then the tram presented itself – driven by underground cable up and down the steep hillside streets: Cable car indeed.

Nightime was club time. This time it was Ruby Skyes that at first puzzled with a very late revival at around 11 pm. But this was San Francisco, not Boston. Everything kept going while we expired at around 2 am. It was proper House all night long, with a fresh touch in the person of a live violinist, who artfully blended into the DJ’s mixes.

Sunday was for recovering. The day was somewhat waisted but a football match came in handy: Poor Netherlands – down and out. With the evening came a sober quietness. The weekend was over. It was time for the departure. This time, it was my turn to leave on an aeroplane. The memories were filed, the moments captured on flash ROM. It was time again to lay out the still lives on web logs and in emails.

A life in an iron mask

The book, Man in the Iron Mask, by Alexander Dumas, tells a story of two French princes, sons of Louis XIII, one of whom ascended to the throne as Louis XIV while his twin brother was locked away and forced to wear an iron mask so no one could tell his true identity. The two brothers got caught in the middle of the political intrigue of the day. But the whole affair was a fable woven of the thread of the revolution and the bourgeoisie. Yet, even though a fable, much of it rings true of other masks of sorts.

There is one particular mask, worn by most – the mask of social acceptance. One has to play the cards one is dealt; yet one has to stick to the rules. One sees and feels as one will, yet society depicts that one marches to the drum and dances to tune of the piper.

Though love is held up as the golden thread that weaves the royal robe of eternity, one may not always love as one pleases. For the love that dares not speak its name must remain hidden behind a mask, this love that winds through history like the odd thread in the cloth of society.

How wretched are the eyes that set upon the beauty of another man, only to be scorned by the rules of the game. Woe be on the heart that dares to be smitten by one betrothed to another. Bitter be the kiss that will never part lips; forever forlorn the passion that stays trapped in fantasy.

Can there be any rest and consolation for one of such disposition? For the feeble years that Nature grants, shall one wander in desperation, smothering in the iron mask? Will there be no hero’s to charge in, expose the plot and dethrone the impostor? Does love ever ask permission of the heart or conjecture terms of logic to the mind? Time after time the heart knows no logic as beauty finds itself in the eye of the beholder. Thus this love stays hidden, the musings of a tortured mind; never to touch; never to hold.

However, in this tale there is but one hero – oneself. And the only impostor is again oneself, marching to the drum, dancing to the tune of the piper. Yet, he who dares to unmask the love that dares not speak its name does so at his own peril. Who dares refute the piper? Obey and live, it says.