There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in it's life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then singing among the savage branches, it rises above it's own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in the heaven smiles. For the best is only brought at the cost of great pain.......Or so says the legend.
The thorn bird with the thorn in it's breast, it follows an immutable law; it is driven but it knows not what to impale itself and die singing. At the very instant the thorn enters there is no awareness in it of the dying to come; it simply sings and sings until there is not the life left to utter another note. But we, when we put the thorns in our breasts, we know. We understand, and still we do it. Still we do it...
