The figure stood silhouetted against the sky and the sea. Standing on the shingle shore, black cloth flapping gently in the sea breeze. Black cloth from head to toe – just the shape of a person with their back to the viewer. Oh yeah, and the long scabbard of a sword mounted across the back. The figure turns around to look at you, only eyes visible. Ninja, Assasin, Thuggee.

The sword flashes out in a single flowing movement, cutting the sky, the sea, the beach, as if it were stage scenery. Maya. Walking through the rent fabric, then …

A middle-aged man stands in the hot sun of a city street. If you have the sight, and you look carefully, you could swear that what you see is a black clothed Ninja … with dark plum varnished nails!!! You shake your head, it’s all illusion and mirrors.

Another cut of the katana and it’s snow you see, hanging, clinging to the tracery of branches in the trees in an English garden. The Ninja peddling a hot word processor …

What does it all mean?

Nothing, nada, rien, niente, zip.

 

It is/is not.