The work of the eyes is done. Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.
Across the moment, aeons speak with aeons. More than we experienced has gone by.
Everything is gestation and then birthing.
Do not allow yourself to be misled by the surfaces of things
To write rhythmic prose one must go deep into oneself and find the anonymous and multiple rhythm of the blood. Prose needs to be built like a cathedral. There, one is truly without a name, without ambition, without help; on scaffoldings, alone with one's consciousness.
Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.