All play aspires to the condition of paradise. . . through play in all its forms. . . we hope to achieve a state that our larger Greco-Roman, Judeo- Christian culture has always known was lost. Where it exists, we do not know, although we always have envisioned it as a garden. . . always as removed, as an enclosed green place. . . Paradise is an ancient dream. . . It is a dream of ourselves as better than we are, back to what we were.
I look up at the ceiling, tracing the foliage of the wreath. Today it makes me think of a hat, the large-brimmed hats women used to wear at some period during the old days: hats like enormous halos, festooned with fruit and flowers, and the feathers of exotic birds; hats like an idea of paradise, floating just above the head, a thought solidified.