March 17, 2011
I stay the day to allow its blooms, bright or dark as they may be; whatever may come of surrendering my heart in the fields of the virgin growth, I cannot begin to anticipate but combine with wonder of the daring possibilities elicited. These things I crave for the loss of wonder in this age is a tragedy that fills me with horror. We have lost something of the shaman...the basic storyteller has been locked in a dungeon. The warden, a dead man bred of the purest darkness, holds the keys out, as if to say, I dare you.