Wisdom Lies Neither In Fixity Nor In

Death Is The Mother Of Forms.

Enormous And Solid But Swaying, Beaten By The Wind But Chained, Murmur Of A Million Leaves Against My Window. Riot Of Trees, Surge Of Dark Green Sounds. The Grove, Suddenly Still, Is A Web Of Fronds And Branches.

Solitude Lies At The Lowest Depth Of The Human Condition. Man Is The Only Being Who Feels Himself To Be Alone And The Only One Who Is Searching For The Other.

A Civilization That Denies Death Ends By Denying Life.

Watching I Watch Myself, What I See Is My Creation As Though Entering Through My Eyes Perception Is Conception Into An Eye More Crystal Clear Water Of Thoughts, What I Watch Watches Me, I Am The Creation Of What I See