I sent her down to the chuckling streams filled with faint mirages and dreams where no one could see her or teach her--- due entirely to my arrogant despair, who loved her and loved her and loved her--- curled about with her yellow hair. And no part that was small (when we break reality down) can know the larger part at all. How is it possible? It is unbelievable and odd to think a molecule or drop of light could get the larger picture right, without design of an all-seeing God. How can this picturesque scene, the lights and houses like a painting or a dream, far from the harsh, the bare, the mean, be atoms, bee-like and unseen? If the infinitely small is the reality behind it all how can the beauty of the larger we see be anything but a God who dreams like me--- but so beyond my expertise I fall with tears in joy to my knees? I sent her down to chuckling streams. Beware others' dreams. Every child has dreams enough. There is no wisdom. There is no love.
