of the mirror and the dance

a word on why we are here.

In the latter days, when the great tales had been taken apart and none could remember how to put them together again, there fell upon the people a strange enchantment: each bore a little mirror, and gazed into it until the faces of their neighbours grew dim. They called their weariness wisdom, and their loneliness freedom; yet beneath the towers of the self their hearts kept time with a music they had almost forgotten. Then let there be disco. Let a thousand fragments of silver be gathered into one turning sphere, that the light, which no single mirror could hold, may fall upon all who stand beneath it. For the shadow of this postmodern age is not driven back by a finer portrait of oneself, nor by one more clever word against hope, but by the hand extended, the foolish step freely taken, the fellowship of bodies moving to a common beat. Come, then, out of the long hall of your own reflection. The night is deep, but it is not yet without song; and while one soul will dance beside another, the world is not wholly lost.