Волны

           ’Iask,ifIshallneverseeyouagainandfixmyeyesonthatsolidity,whatformwillourcommunicationtake?Youhavegoneacrossthecourt,furtherandfurther,drawingfinerandfinerthethreadbetweenus.Butyouexistsomewhere.Somethingofyouremains.Ajudge.Thatis,ifIdiscoveranewveininmyselfIshallsubmitittoyouprivately.Ishallask,Whatisyourverdict?Youshallremainthearbiter.Butforhowlong?Thingswillbecometoodifficulttoexplain:therewillbenewthings;alreadymyson.Iamnowatthezenithofanexperience.Itwilldecline.AlreadyInolongercrywithconviction,"Whatluck!"Exaltation,theflightofdovesdescending,isover.Chaos,detailreturn.Iamnolongeramazedbynameswrittenovershop-windows.IdonotfeelWhyhurry?Whycatchtrains?Thesequencereturns;onethingleadstoanother--theusualorder.

           ’Yes,butIstillresenttheusualorder.Iwillnotletmyselfbemadeyettoacceptthesequenceofthings.Iwillwalk;Iwillnotchangetherhythmofmymindbystopping,bylooking;Iwillwalk.Iwillgoupthesestepsintothegalleryandsubmitmyselftotheinfluenceofmindslikemineoutsidethesequence.Thereislittletimelefttoanswerthequestion;mypowersflag;Ibecometorpid.Herearepictures.Herearecoldmadonnasamongtheirpillars.Letthemlaytoresttheincessantactivityofthemind’seye,thebandagedhead,themenwithropes,sothatImayfindsomethingunvisualbeneath.Herearegardens;andVenusamongherflowers;herearesaintsandbluemadonnas.