Truth Is That Which Makes A People

The Song Still Remains Which Names The Land Over Which It Sings.

In No Way Can It Be Uttered, As Can Other Things, Which One Can Learn. Rather, From Out Of A Full, Co-existential Dwelling With The Thing Itself - As When A Spark, Leaping From The Fire, Flares Into Light - So It Happens, Suddenly, In The Soul, There To Grow, Alone With Itself.

Celebration... Is Self Restraint, Is Attentiveness, Is Questioning, Is Meditating, Is Awaiting, Is The Step Over Into The More Wakeful Glimpse Of The Wonder - The Wonder That A World Is Worlding Around Us At All, That There Are Beings Rather Than Nothing, That Things Are And We Ourselves Are In Their Midst, That We Ourselves Are And Yet Barely Know Who We Are, And Barely Know That We Do Not Know All This.

Only If We Are Capable Of Dwelling, Only Then Can We Build

A Boundary Is Not That At Which Something Stops, But That From Which Something Begins.