Where roof-ends rise up into dragons in the temple quiet of Bangkok frantic wings are sold in small cages by women to earn a few baht. To free wings, to brefriend the flight of even sparrows, earns Buddhist merit and freedom for the self trapped in repetitive cages of flesh. Universal as dowdy sparrows, in this gilded glitter of temples, our ideals hover wings in sunlight to be caged once again in the dark. |