History And Memory Share Events;

Reading A Poem In Translation Is Like Kissing A Woman Through A Veil.

But Sometimes The World Disrobes, Slips Its Dress Off A Shoulder, Stops Time For A Beat. If We Look Up At That Moment, It's Not Due To Any Ability Of Ours To Pierce The Darkness, It's The World's Brief Bestowal. The Catastrophe Of Grace.

The Shadow-past Is Shaped By Everything That Never Happened. Invisible, It Melts The Present Like Rain Through Karst. A Biography Of Longing. It Steers Us Like Magnetism, A Spirit Torque. This Is How One Becomes Undone By A Smell, A Word, A Place, The Photo Of A Mountain Of Shoes. By Love That Closes Its Mouth Before Calling A Name.

History Is The Gradual Instant

The Spirit In The Body Is Like Wine In A Glass; When It Spills, It Seeps Into Air And Earth And Light….it’s A Mistake To Think It’s The Small Things We Control And Not The Large, It’s The Other Way Around! We Can’t Stop The Small Accident, The Tiny Detail That Conspires Into Fate: The Extra Moment You Run Back For Something Forgotten, A Moment That Saves You From An Accident – Or Causes One. But We Can Assert The Largest Order, The Large Human Values Daily, The Only Order Large Enough To See.