End of the Production

Spent most of Saturday in a dinner party discussing in one way or another the awful truth that we are all going to die - not in a depressive way but in a desperate way because what else is there in life then. Probably not the best subject for a dinner party but as the morning came and conversation continued on the heath under the illumination of the rising sun I came to realise that I am not interested anymore by the dream. I am a romantic and hiding behind by cynicism was the observation given of myself ... and yes I was but on Sunday morning I realised that the play has had its run and the huge set that was built all those years ago in my childhood or before to stage this romantic quest is starting to be dismantled. The painted panels of sunsets and dusky forests ornamented with sprites and magical creatures turn from their fixments as the stage crane lifts and the illusion is suddenly replaced by another reality.

There is some sadness and disbelief at the end of party that the magical world has no depth and cannot be a world in which I can live. This is not what life is about and I no longer think I live there; inhabitant now of another less endearing world.