THE MASK

 Dear Brothers and Sisters,

Years ago I discovered a poem that haunted me then and haunts me now.  I think it  speaks more meaningfully to our age than we want to admit.  What do you think?  I’m not sure who wrote it.  Everywhere it is attributed to “unknown author.”  It is called, “The Mask.”

Always a mask

Held in the slim hand, whitely,

Always she had a mask before her face –

Smiling and sprightly,

The mask.

Truly the wrist

Holding it lightly

Fitted the task;

Sometimes however

Was there a shiver,

Fingertip quiver.

Ever so slightly, -

Holding the mask?

For years and years I wondered

But dared not ask

And then -

I blundered,

I looked behind the mask,

To find - - Nothing.

She had no face.

She had become

Merely a hand

Holding the mask

With grace.

Haunting, isn’t it?  

Masks.  How easy it is to wear a mask.   How easy it is to hide behind our masks.  How easy it is to lose our identity as the mask becomes us. Maybe we should lose the masks and take our chances with the real thing.