When Experience Flies Into Realms That Language

There Are Many Things Worth Telling That Are Not Quite Narrative. And Eternity Itself Possesses No Beginning, Middle Or End. Fossils, Arrowheads, Castle Ruins, Empty Crosses: From The Parthenon To The Bo Tree To A Grown Man's Or Woman's Old Stuffed Bear, What Moves Us About Many Objects Is Not What Remains But What Has Vanished. There Comes A Time, Thanks To Rivers, When A Few Beautiful Old Teeth Are All That Remain Of The Two-hundred-foot Spires Of Life We Call Trees. There Comes A River, Whose Current Is Time, That Does A Similar Sculpting In The Mind.

Wonder Is Like Grace, In That It's Not A Condition We Grasp; It Grasps Us. Wonder Is Not An Obligatory Element In The Search For Truth. We Can Seek Truth Without Wonder's Assistance. But Seek Is All We'll Do; There Will Be No Finding. Unless Wonder Descends, Unlocks Us ... Truth Is Unable To Enter. Wonder May Be The Aura Of Truth, The Halo Of It. Or Something Even Closer. Wonder May Be The Caress Of Truth, Touching Our Very Skin.

I Wish There Really Was Such A Thing As A Time-clock Puncher, Though. I Wish Some Gigantic, Surly, Stone-fisted Soap Mahoney-type Guy Went Around The World Smashing Every Clock In Sight Till There Weren't Any More And People Got So Confused About When To Go To The Mill Or School Or Church That They Gave Up And Did Something Interesting Instead.

As A Lifelong Student Of The World’s Wisdom Literature, It Is My Duty To Inform Students That “ridding The World Of Evil” Is A Goal Very Different From Any Recommended By Jesus, Buddha, Or Muhammad, Though Not So Different From Some Recommended By The Josephs Stalin And Mccarthy And By Mao Tse Tung.

The Bad Thing About Falling Into Pieces Is That It Hurts. The Good Thing About It Is That Once You're Lying There In Shards You've Got Nothing Left To Protect, And So Have No Reason Not To Be Honest