I Must Go Down To The Seas

It Is Always Hard To Believe That The Will To Change Something Does Not Produce An Immediate Change.

The Sun Is All Love And Murder, Judgement, The Perpetual Raid Of Conscience, Paratrooping Light Which Opens Like A Snow-blossom In The Downward Drift Of Death. Wherever I Turn - The Golden Cymbals Of Judgement, The Summoning Of The Torturers Of Light.

For In Spite Of The Snapdragons And The Duty Millers And The Cherry Blossoms, It Was Always Winter.

Listening To Her, One Experienced A Deep Uneasiness As Of Having Avoided An Urgent Responsibility, Like Someone Who, Walking At Night Along The Banks Of A Stream, Catches A Glimpse In The Water Of A White Face Or A Moving Limb And Turns Quickly Away, Refusing To Help Or To Search For Help. We All See The Faces In The Water. We Smother Our Memory Of Them, Even Our Belief In Their Reality, And Become Calm People Of The World; Or We Can Neither Forget Or Help Them. Sometimes By A Trick Of Circumstances Or Dream Or A Hostile Neighborhood Of Light We See Our Own Face.

Writing An Autobiography, Usually Thought Of As A Looking Back, Can Just As Well Be A Looking Across Or Through, With The Passing Of Time Giving An X-ray Quality To The Eye.