What would you do when they see you waving your flag? A piece of cloth at the end of a long pole. What if they look at your flag and see in it the open sea, eagles pouncing on vicious snakes? What if they see in it godmen fighting on this holy land for human ambition? What if they see the lies they have been told and the poison they have been fed? The garden where the thunderstorms grow, the cave in which the serpent is bound for another thousand years. The human race that went digging the earth, entered the nether regions, never returned and never died. What if they see all this and more? Take up your brush and enliven this cloth. Your hands are too precious for trivialities. Your fingers have a sure destiny. Isn’t the oracle of our age lost? Where shall we find him? In the breeding house of geese and hens? In the palaces of pleasure or slums of malnourishment? What if they find that oracle in your flag?
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