I am speechless.
I feel as if I am stuck in a box.
Marcel Marceau, the world's Mime, has achieved pure silence.
When they found him, his face was white as a ghost.
"Say something! Say something!", they shouted, but they knew it was futile.
He wouldn't make a sound.

Now, it is as if questions appear from air, flowering from our hearts.
Will we ever be able to make-up a mime as him?

Let us grasp that burden in our hands, and place it upon an imaginary shelf,
lending our minds, instead, to contemplation of a great master.

Tonight is a night to remember Marcel Marceau.
I will relive one of his concerts on tape. It is, alas, only an audio tape. From his album, "Memorex".

And I will seek video of his art, and try to learn everything I can from him. We all should.
For a mime is a terrible thing to waste.

I sit in awe. Not just from his great object work, but his ability to raise up the value of words, by not using them.
For his craft, he was one of the most beloved artists.
For his silence, he was one of the most beloved Frenchmen.

People claim mime is easy, because all you do is act silently, by not talking.
But actions speak louder than words.
There are no words to describe true mime.

And there are no words to describe Marcel Marceau. A survivor of tragedies, unspeakable tragedies, who showed the world art and love.

Words escape me.

Goodbye, Marcel.