Certainly Science Has Moved Forward. But When

Man Is Dragged Hither And Thither, At One Moment By The Blind Instincts Of The Forest, At The Next By The Strange Intuitions Of A Higher Self Whose Rationale He Doubts And Does Not Understand.

In The Days Of The Frost Seek An Minor Sun.

Once In A Lifetime, Perhaps, One Escapes The Actual Confines Of The Flesh. Once In A Lifetime, If One Is Lucky, One So Merges With Sunlight And Air And Running Water That Whole Eons, The Eons That Mountains And Deserts Know, Might Pass In A Single Afternoon Without Discomfort.

In The End, Science As We Know It Has Two Basic Types Of Practitioners. One Is The Educated Man Who Still Has A Controlled Sense Of Wonder Before The Universal Mystery, Whether It Hides In A Snail's Eye Or Within The Light That Impinges On That Delicate Organ. The Second Kind Of Observer Is The Extreme Reductionist Who Is So Busy Stripping Things Apart That The Tremendous Mystery Has Been Reduced To A Trifle, To Intangibles Not Worth Troubling One's Head About.

Animals Are Molded By Natural Forces They Do Not Comprehend. To Their Minds There Is No Past And No Future. There Is Only The Everlasting Present Of A Single Generation, Its Trails In The Forest, Its Hidden Pathways In The The Air And In The Sea. There Is Nothing In The Universe More Alone Than Man. He Has Entered Into The Strange World Of History.