Stephen Dobyns An Artist Like Any Other Let's say a fellow has a little trick— he can take a rock, toss it about ten feet, then take another, toss it so it lands on top, then take a third and toss it on top of that so all three make a little tower. Each rock is about the size of a child's fist. Any bigger or any further or if he tries a fourth, then it doesn't work. People are impressed, but how many times can you watch a guy do a trick like that? Shortly they wander off. Children last a little longer. The man's wife asks to see it once a week just to be nice. His kids say, Give it a break, Dad. Three rocks twirling through the air and landing perfectly, time after time. He never misses. The man feels proud. He'd do it all day long if anyone cared, but even the dog nods off. Let's say this is some vestigial blip, like that occasional tail that nurses snip off newborns. Once his ancestors tossed huge boulders, built pyramids, even Stonehenge. You wanted something really big transported? This was the guy to do it. How many of these leftovers do we have left? Cave painters shrunk into tattoo artists, epic poets whose last sparks ignite greeting card verse. Just as some day novelists might morph into the guys who make up menus for greasy spoons. Today a man flips a stone, then two more. Presto. See how they join to form a miniature defiance of the world's natural laws, a trifling metaphor for the enigmatic? No doubt about it, the fellow's an artist like any other. The neighbor's addlepated five-year-old slaps his head in wonder. At least the first time. Is a lot of the wonder that goes down in paranormal experiences actually mundane?
yes, but after you realize that, the next step is to realize that everything, no matter how mundane, is interesting in its own right. So everything becomes fascinating again. I like the poem
