This World Is Painted On A Wild

Soon The Child’s Clear Eye Is Clouded Over By Ideas And Opinions, Preconceptions, And Abstractions. Simple Free Being Becomes Encrusted With The Burdensome Armor Of The Ego. Not Until Years Later Does An Instinct Come That A Vital Sense Of Mystery Has Been Withdrawn. The Sun Glints Through The Pines And The Heart Is Pierced In A Moment Of Beauty And Strange Pain, Like A Memory Of Paradise. After That Day, We Become Seekers.

I Think In Any Writing You're Paying Attention To Detail.

The Sun Is Roaring, It Fills To Bursting Each Crystal Of Snow. I Flush With Feeling, Moved Beyond My Comprehension, And Once Again, The Warm Tears Freeze Upon My Face. These Rocks And Mountains, All This Matter, The Snow Itself, The Air- The Earth Is Ringing. All Is Moving, Full Of Power, Full Of Light.

This World Is Painted On A Wild Dark Metal

How Could I Say That I Wished To Penetrate The Secrets Of The Mountains In Search Of Something Still Unknown That, Like The Yeti, Might Well Be Missed For The Very Fact Of Searching?