The Soul Exceeds Its Circumstances.

The Death Of A Man Is Like The Fall Of A Mighty Nation That Had Valiant Armies, Captains, And Prophets, And Wealthy Ports And Ships All Over The Seas.

Human Reason Is Beautiful And Invincible. No Bars, No Barbed Wire, No Pulping Of Books, No Sentence Of Banishment Can Prevail Against It. It Puts What Should Be Above Things As They Are. It Does Not Know Jew From Greek Nor Slave From Master.

The Soul Exceeds Its Circumstances.

He Returns Years Later, Has No Demands. He Wants Only One, Most Precious Thing: To See, Purely And Simply, Without Name, Without Expectations, Fears, Or Hopes, At The Edge Where There Is No I Or Not-i.

Evil Grows And Bears Fruit, Which Is Understandable, Because It Has Logic And Probability On Its Side And Also, Of Course, Strength. The Resistance Of Tiny Kernels Of Good, To Which No One Grants The Power Of Causing Far-reaching Consequences, Is Entirely Mysterious, However. Such Seeming Nothingness Not Only Lasts But Contains Within Itself Enormous Energy Which Is Revealed Gradually.