Strange Platypus(es) Part IX
My Wife in a burkha.
My wife wore a burkha with veil on Saturday. It was interesting, to say the least. Beneath that black column of rich and delicate cloth, my wife disappeared and lost all trace of personality. People avoided eye-contact. They would not address her. I became my wife's window on the world, her keeper. -until she spoke. Only her voice could break through that spell of anonymity and convert that still and terrible black column into flesh and blood once more. It was an act worthy of Pygmallion or Phantasties. As a choice, there is awesome and noble power in that veil, as Orual knew only too well. For one to take it up not out of their own free will; I can think of few tyrannies more absolute.
More on this later...
My wife wore a burkha with veil on Saturday. It was interesting, to say the least. Beneath that black column of rich and delicate cloth, my wife disappeared and lost all trace of personality. People avoided eye-contact. They would not address her. I became my wife's window on the world, her keeper. -until she spoke. Only her voice could break through that spell of anonymity and convert that still and terrible black column into flesh and blood once more. It was an act worthy of Pygmallion or Phantasties. As a choice, there is awesome and noble power in that veil, as Orual knew only too well. For one to take it up not out of their own free will; I can think of few tyrannies more absolute.
More on this later...
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