Whereas I Formerly Believed It To Be

Somewhere There Was Once A Flower, A Stone, A Crystal, A Queen, A King, A Palace, A Lover And His Beloved, And This Was Long Ago, On An Island Somewhere In The Ocean 5,000 Years Ago. . . . Such Is Love, The Mystic Flower Of The Soul. This Is The Center, The Self.

Every Father Is Given The Opportunity To Corrupt His Daughter's Nature, And The Educator, Husband, Or Psychiatrist Then Has To Face The Music. For What Has Been Spoiled By The Father Can Only Be Made Good By A Father, Just As What Has Been Spoiled By The Mother Can Only Be Repaired By A Mother. The Disastrous Repetition Of The Family Pattern Could Be Described As The Psychological Original Sin, Or As The Curse Of The Atrides Running Through The Generations.

I Am Astonished, Disappointed, Pleased With Myself. I Am Distressed, Depressed, Rapturous. I Am All These Things At Once And Cannot Add Up The Sum.

Without This Playing With Fantasy No Creative Work Has Ever Yet Come To Birth. The Debt We Owe To The Play Of The Imagination Is Incalculable.

Science Is The Tool Of The Western Mind And With It More Doors Can Be Opened Than With Bare Hands.