You Cannot Read Any Image Of The

Increasingly I Think Of Myself As Some Strange And Solitary Conductor, Introduced To A Group Of Very Dynamic Musicians Who Happen To Be My Characters, And I Have No Idea How They Are Going To Play Together, And I Have Certainly No Idea How I Am Going To Put Manners On Them.

Things In Life Have No Real Beginning, Though Our Stories About Them Always Do.

Corrigan Told Me Once That Christ Was Quite Easy To Understand. He Went Where He Was Supposed To Go. He Stayed Where He Was Needed. He Took Little Or Nothing Along, A Pair Of Sandals, A Bit Of A Shirt, A Few Odds And Ends To Stave Off The Loneliness. He Never Rejected The World. If He Had Rejected It, He Would Have Been Rejecting Mystery. And If He Rejected Mystery, He Would Have Been Rejecting Faith.

No Shame In Saying That I Felt A Loneliness Drifting Through Me. Funny How It Was, Everyone Perched In Their Own Little World With The Deep Need To Talk, Each Person With Their Own Tale, Beginning In Some Strange Middle Point, Then Trying So Hard To Tell It All, To Have It All Make Sense, Logical And Final.

I Told Him That I Loved Him And That I'd Always Love Him And I Felt Like A Child Who Throws A Centavo Into A Fountain And Then She Has To Tell Someone Her Most Extraordinary Wish Even Though She Knows That The Wish Should Be Kept Secret And That, In Telling It, She Is Quite Probably Losing It. He Replied That I Was Not To Worry, That The Penny Could Come Out Of The Fountain Again And Again And Again.