Perhaps Passing Through The Gates Of Death

And Even When I Was Broken The Way Sometimes One Can Be Broken, And Even Though I Had Fallen, I Found Upon Arising That I Was Stronger Than Before, That The Glories, If I May Call Them That, Which I Had Loved So Much And That Had Been Darkened In My Fall, Were Shinning Even Brighter And Nearly Everytime Subsequently I Have Fallen And Darkness Has Come Over Me, They Have Obstinately Arisen, Not As They Were, But Brighter.

Then The Bow Orchestra Began To Play An Apocalyptically Beautiful Canon, One Of Those Pieces In Which, Surely, The Composer Simply Transcribed What Was Given, And Trembled In Awe Of The Hand That Was Guiding Him.

You’ll Join Me Sooner Than You Know In A Place With . . . No Illusions, Where The Truth Is The Only Architecture, The Only Color, The Only Sound--where That Which We Sense Merely On Occasion, And Which Takes Us Up And Gives Us The Rare And Beautiful Glimpses Of The Things We Truly Love, Flows In Deep Rivers And Tumbles About Like Clouds In The Sky.

Heavy Blizzards Start As A Gentle And Persistent Snow.

I Suppose I Could Read More Fiction, But I Haven't Moved In That Direction. I'd Like More Time Even Though I Spend Six Hours A Day Reading. People Say Their Eyes Get Tired, But I've Never Experienced That. In College I Used To Read 10 Hours A Day. My Wife Says I'm Obsessive Compulsive. She Might Have A Point Because When I Was An Undergrad Student We Had The Required Reading List And The Suggested Reading List. I Always Read All The Suggested Reading Too.