Friday, April 14, 2006
Dear Sage, The following prose is a metaphor, no doubt an imperfect one, of the first Good Friday...
"There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. Upon leaving its nest, it searches for a thorn tree and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And dying it rises above its own agony to out carol the lark and the nightingale. One superaltive song- existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen. And God in his heaven smiles. For the best is bought only at the cost of great pain... or so, says the legend." -- The Thorn Birds
It was the first page of the book you guys almost ripped apart.