A curious thing about names, how they are given by parents who imagine something from the past. But the bearers of names grow and become the name. Benjamin, the loved one, the youngest, a young tree. (That is true of all Benjamins). But there was another Benjamin, who tried to read all the signs, all the languages, the objects with stored memories, the body with gestures, the telling of stories. And a big question: in our cities, where are the forests? Maybe the toys can tell us, maybe the writing on sculptures, maybe the streets as labyrinths. Maybe the doors and windows will open back to the past and mirror the future. And yet, and yet our Benjamin (his own tall tree) will tell his own stories, will move through the streets, his own actor, opening his own doors and windows, creating his own living future. How important that the name should not be dead but living and that it grows with the prayer of those all around who admire the strength of the bearer. And, today, Ben is a man. Ioan Davies 3. iv. 1997
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