I Love Forms Beyond My Own, And

Great Minds Have Always Seen It. That Is Why Man Has Survived His Journey This Long. When We Fail To Wish Any Longer To Be Otherwise Than What We Are, We Will Have Ceased To Evolve. Evolution Has To Be Lived Forward. I Say This As One Who Has Stood Above The Bones Of Much That Has Vanished, And At Midnight Has Examined His Own Face.

Many Of Us Who Walk To And Fro Upon Our Usual Tasks Are Prisoners Drawing Mental Maps Of Escape.

It Has Been Said Repeatedly That One Can Never, Try As He Will, Get Around To The Front Of The Universe. Man Is Destined To See Only Its Far Side, To Realize Nature Only In Retreat.

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.

Though Men In The Mass Forget The Origins Of Their Need, They Still Bring Wolfhounds Into City Apartments, Where Dog And Man Both Sit Brooding In Wistful Discomfort. The Magic That Gleams An Instant Between Argos And Odysseus Is Both The Recognition Of Diversity And The Need For Affection Across The Illusions Of Form. It Is Nature's Cry To Homeless, Far-wandering, Insatiable Man: "do Not Forget Your Brethren, Nor The Green Wood From Which You Sprang. To Do So Is To Invite Disaster.