In The Desert, An Old

It Is A Commonplace Of All Religious Thought, Even The Most Primitive, That The Man Seeking Visions And Insight Must Go Apart From His Fellows And Love For A Time In The Wilderness.

Every Time We Walk Along A Beach Some Ancient Urge Disturbs Us So That We Find Ourselves Shedding Shoes And Garments Or Scavenging Among Seaweed And Whitened Timbers Like The Homesick Refugees Of A Long War... Mostly The Animals Understand Their Roles, But Man, By Comparison, Seems Troubled By A Message That, It Is Often Said, He Cannot Quite Remember Or Has Gotten Wrong... Bereft Of Instinct, He Must Search Continually For Meanings... Man Was A Reader Before He Became A Writer, A Reader Of What Coleridge Once Called The Mighty Alphabet Of The Universe.

Some Degree Of Withdrawal Serves To Nurture Man's Creative Powers. The Artist And The Scientist Bring Out Of The Dark Void, Like The Mysterious Universe Itself, The Unique, The Strange, The Unexpected. Numerous Observers Have Testified Upon The Loneliness Of The Process.

Subconsciously The Genius Is Feared As An Image Breaker; Frequently He Does Not Accept The Opinions Of The Mass, Or Man's Opinion Of Himself.

It Is Frequently The Tragedy Of The Great Artist, As It Is Of The Great Scientist, That He Frightens The Ordinary Man.