I Like To See Life With Its

Divisions Of The Kind Were Fashionable At That Time, And It Was So Easy To Stifle One's Need To Help By Deciding That Help Could Neither Be Accepted Nor Understood.

From The First Place Of Liquid Darkness, Within The Second Place Of Air And Light, I Set Down The Following Record With Its Mixture Of Fact And Truths And Memories Of Truths And Its Direction Toward The Third Place, Where The Starting Point Is Myth.

He Sees The Land Of Meaning, And One Path To It, And The So-called “normal” People Traveling Swiftly And In Comfort To The Land; He Does Not Include The Shipwrecked People Who Arrive By Devious Lonely Routes, And The Many Who Dwell In The Land In The Beginning.

All Writers - All Beings - Are Exiles As A Matter Of Course. The Certainty About Living Is That It Is A Succession Of Expulsions Of Whatever Carries The Life Force...all Writers Are Exiles Wherever They Live And Their Work Is A Lifelong Journey Towards The Lost Land.

So We Went To Bed, Assaulted By Sleep That Fumed At Us From Medicine Glasses, Or Was Wielded From Small Sweet-coated Tablets -- Dainty Bricks Of Dream Wrapped In The Silk Stockings Of Oblivion.