After Chiding The Theologian For His Reliance

What If I Am, In Some Way, Only A Sophisticated Fire That Has Acquired An Ability To Regulate Its Rate Of Combustion And To Hoard Its Fuel In Order To See And Walk?

Man Inhabits A Realm Half In And Half Out Of Nature, His Mind Reaching Forever Beyond The Tool, The Uniformity, The Law, Into Some Realm Which Is That Of The Mind Alone.

Nothing Grows Among Its Pinnacles; There Is No Shade Except Under Great Toadstools Of Sandstone Whose Bases Have Been Eaten To The Shape Of Wine Glasses By The Wind. Everything Is Flaking, Cracking, Disintegrating, Wearing Away In The Long, Inperceptible Weather Of Time. The Ash Of Ancient Volcanic Outbursts Still Sterilizes Its Soil, And Its Colors In That Waste Are The Colors That Flame In The Lonely Sunsets On Dead Planets.

Certainly Science Has Moved Forward. But When Science Progresses, It Often Opens Vaster Mysteries To Our Gaze. Moreover, Science Frequently Discovers That It Must Abandon Or Modify What It Once Believed. Sometimes It Ends By Accepting What It Has Previously Scorned.

The Freedom To Create Is Somehow Linked With Facility Of Access To Those Obscure Regions Below The Conscious Mind.