One oughtn't to assume anything yet when something hits home and one is bowled over one shan't but one shall, against all conventions and pre- condition ideologies by which one has lived, for all societal mores saving face to all those who still hold steadfast to dogmas and doctrines which have plagued man, suppressed feelings, subjugated any new possibilities, for any advances that have been balked by the egregious monster that is greed or by any other vice that has enthralled a good descent man to a life beneath his potentials and subjected him to a life as a thrall to an unjust paradigm veiled by a duplicitous propaganda machine that perpetuates blind obeisance bolstered by fear and the threat of sustenance, what is left? Most succumb, others fight, and some of the more sensitive nature and artistic persuasion seek to escape through the disembodied spirit to give free reign to our imagination who wonders deeply what if and why not? If ever there was a creative whose intrinsic essence longed to be borne on the wings of freedom and be transported to the land of transcendence to gambol and life amongst dreams above all that is petty simple bigotry without cause , if ever there was an angel amongst mortals, if ever there was an creative whose spirit touched ever so eloquently on that enigmatic universal thing called Love - Daphne du Maurier is the pure embodiment of this disembodied spirit... They say creatives do not understand the world in which they are misunderstood, they are desired but not needed, they are wont to become cross and bear the wrath in effigy of all that is rot and once there in this welter of obloquy they can become subversive and must be marginalized and if not effaced for the good of mankind, for they become "evil" and outside the hands of providence they do not see the moral walls erected by god and citizen alike wherein one summons the amoral demon inly which will inevitably give rise to a bacchanal of the supreme debauched sinner, this is how society bears the will of the creative - but it is not that they cannot see the walls, they simply break them down with their art which simply begs the question, what if.... why not? The beloved gracious Daphne, whose disembodied spirit survives her on a chill night against the gibbous moon when a soft zephyr wraps lightly on the casement window, listen to the sibilant whispers of time immemorial as her soft tender kiss graces your soft cheek and asks 'what if?'
