Where it mends or it breaks...

Oh how incomprehensible everything was, and actually sad, although it was also beautiful. He knew nothing. He lived and ran about the earth and rode through forests, and certain things looked so challenging and promising and nostalgic: a star in the evening, a blue harebell, a reed-green pond, the eye of a person or a cow. And sometimes it seemed that something never seen yet long desired was about to happen, that a veil would drop from it all, but then it passed, nothing happened, the riddle remained unsolved, the secret spell unbroken, and in the end he grew old and looked cunning ... or wise ... and still he knew nothing ... perhaps, he was still waiting and listening.

As every flower fades and as all youth departs, so life at every stage, so every virtue, so our grasp of truth blooms in its day and may not last forever. Since life may summon us at every age be ready, heart, for parting, new endeavor, be ready bravely and without remorse to find new light that old ties cannot give. In all beginnings dwells a magic force for guarding us and helping us to live. Serenely let us move to distant places and let no sentiments of home detain us. The vosmic dpirit seeks not to restrain us but lifts us stage by stage to wider spaces. If we accept a home of our own making, familiar habit makes for indolence. We must prepare for parting and leave-taking or else remain the slaves of permanence. Even the hour of our death may send us speeding on to fresh and newer spaces, and life may summon us to newer races. So be it, heart: bid farewell without end.