Death Is Close Enough At Hand So

Since Copernicus, Man Seems To Have Got Himself On An Inclined Plane-now He Is Slipping Faster And Faster Away From The Center Into-what? Into Nothingness? Into A 'penetrating Sense Of His Nothingness?' ... All Science, Natural As Well As Unnatural-which Is What I Call The Self-critique Of Knowledge-has At Present The Object Of Dissuading Man From His Former Respect For Himself, As If This Had Been But A Piece Of Bizarre Conceit.

Remain Faithful To The Earth, My Brothers, With The Power Of Your Virtue. Let Your Gift-giving Love And Your Knowledge Serve The Meaning Of The Earth. Thus I Beg And Beseech You. Do Not Let Them Fly Away From Earthly Things And Beat With Their Wings Against Eternal Walls. Alas, There Has Always Been So Much Virtue That Has Flown Away. Lead Back To The Earth The Virtue That Flew Away, As I Do—back To The Body, Back To Life, That It May Give The Earth A Meaning, A Human Meaning.

Wherever Primitive Man Put Up A Word, He Believed He Had Made A Discovery. How Utterly Mistaken He Really Was! He Had Touched A Problem, And While Supposing He Had Solved It, He Had Created And Obstacle To Its Solution. Now, With Every New Knowledge We Stumble Over Flint-like And Petrified Words And, In So Doing, Break A Leg Sooner Than A Word.

How Can A Man Know Himself? He Is A Thing Dark And Veiled; And If The Hare Has Seven Skins, Man Can Slough Off Seventy Times Seven And Still Not Be Able To Say: "this Is Really You, This Is No Longer Outer Shell.

Without Music, Life Would Be A Mistake... I Would Only Believe In A God Who Knew How To Dance.