Reality Is The Completion Of Experience.

Slowly I Would Get To Pen And Paper, Make My Poems For Others Unseen And Unborn. In The Day I Would Be Reminded Of Those Men And Women, Brave, Setting Up Signals Across Vast Distances, Considering A Nameless Way Of Living, Of Almost Unimagined Values.

The Journey Is My Home.

Dogma And Shrinking From The External World Are At One Limit Of The Range Of Belief. At The Other Are Science And Poetry And, Indeed, Reality.

How Can I Look Back And Not Speak Of The Stupid Learning About Birth? Of The Stupid Learning That People Make Love, And How It Seemed The Reason For All Things, The Intimacy Of My Wondering, The Illumination That To An Adolescent Was The Cause For Life Around Me, The Reason Why The Unhappy People I Knew Did Not Kill Themselves?

Nourish Beginnings, Let Us Nourish Beginnings. Not All Things Are Blest, But The Seeds Of All Things Are Blest. The Blessing Is In The Seed.