voice of the unknown

a sharp look,  24"x20", oil on canvas


hmmm's friend tap was a stone mason. each day at sunrise the sun tapped tap on his forehead, pulled him out of his recurring dream, a dream that went the same way each morning:

tap is rowing a boat away from the shore of the world, away from society, away from all the pretensions of humanity.  as tap rows he hears a single voice, prayer-like, monk-like. captivated by it's  mesmerizing cadence, intonation and pitch,  he is compelled outward into the sea, following the voice. the more tap rows his boat the higher the waves become until he loses all control of his boat. he capsizes, is thrown overboard, crushed under the weight of the sea.  under the water, tap still vaguely hears the voice, swims toward it, which, unknowingly to him, is downward toward the bottom of the sea. when he hits the bottom, urged onward by the voice, tap digs calmly,  focused, without panic into the sand with his hands. he discovers an opening that reveals oxygen, light, the sound of the voice full and clear.  tap pulls himself through the portal, walks slowly toward a shadowy cave, the origin of the voice. he goes into the darkness, deeper into the cavern.  as tap becomes more and more shrouded in black, the voice, in turn, becomes more and more illuminated.  just as the voice is about to reveal it's source, the sun taps tap on the forehead, pulls him out of the dream.

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