The Realisation Of One's Own Death Is

Truth Is A Woman. That Is Why It Is Enigmatic.

I Have Decided To Leave Clea’s Last Letter Un-answered. I No Longer Wish To Coerce Anyone, To Make Promises, To Think Of Life In Terms Of Compacts, Resolutions, Covenants. It Will Be Up To Clea To Interpret My Silence According To Her Own Needs And Desires, To Come To Me If She Has Need Or Not, As The Case May Be. Does Not Everything Depend On Our Interpretation Of The Silence Around Us?

It Is Not Peace We Seek But Meaning.

How Grudging Memory Is, And How Bitterly She Clutches The Raw Material Of Her Daily Work.

Life Is More Complicated Than We Think, Yet Far Simpler Than Anyone Dares To Imagine