...but I wanted to write it, O Best Beloved, before I lost the dream.
Mystery flees, pursued by the heavy hand of knowledge. The wonder of life, dissected, explained, a hundred pages, a thousand, a library of words. Mystery is fled. I have held in my hands secrets, hearts unbeating and unbroken, the very things of our being, weighed the measure of a man and found it not light. But what then remains? It is in the unfurling fingers and discovered hands, the cry and laughter of innocence - beyond the books, sharper than scalpels and more real than I. Mystery flees, and leaves itself behind. NsB 05-Sep-03 "jaheim"