We can spend an evening on our suburban decks, and look at the surrounding city life, on the verge of sleep, and think that is all there is. Just sterility, the movements on the surface, nothing more than what we see. But if we see, really see, we might find what is below the surface, and connect it to what has happened always. Prayers made with fetishes in a hut, or in a bed under covers; sharpening of hunting knives or a pencil for an accountant's ledger; a raid on a neighboring clan, or an invective on some political website. And if we look closely enough, might we not imagine the demons and spirits that hovered over the daily life of our ancestors?
It is part of a theme offered up here with Singers, Souls, Silence and also on my Scribd collection, with The Lighted Window.