I am not my words,
Nor am I the letters from which they are formed;
I am a beating drum,
A cacophony,
A riot keeping pace with mortal time;
Spinning order thriftily,
So as not to cheapen the divinely proclaimed language of the soul.
‘Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.’
- T. S. Eliot
