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Letter after a chance meeting

She asked: You know so much, how can you feel such despair?

My name might have slipped out of your memory of an evening, intended to entertain and promote uninvolved acquaintance, in which case the unintended inconvenience of reminding you of the hoarse voice that assailed you in an unceasing torrent of words is regretted; then again, it may have remained with you in a manner more significant than the frayed card I proffered you; in which case you will not mind my fulfilling the promise.

Enclosed is the variegated amalgam of various things we talked about, including some poems. They, by themselves, are, admittedly, not frightfully important, but it is possible that they may touch you in some ways, as they have many others; on the other hand, you may find them oppressive, making ingress upon your thoughts, emotions and time, and therefore to be distanced. In either case, do share your reactions, and protocol permitting, an evening with us.

To say that the human situation is complex is superfluous, because it would be understating the obvious. It is fascinating that from the remove of time and space, the chaos of its contradictions and convulsions seem serene in their inconsequence and insignificance, even eventlessness. What staggers one is not the balance of stupendous harmony that one finds at that point of understanding, transcending this apparent miasma of disorder, but the tortuous process itself of getting there, finding oneself alone, unable to share the final answer to all quests, at the peril of not being understood, or worse, being viciously misunderstood.

For one, however, who has in his desire to unlock the secret of the universe and man's place in it, laid bare the minutest and the darkest components of the human mind, it is therefore not easy to like much of what is discerned, or live in easy peace with the monumental consciousness of it.

I had much rather left the rainbow alone; but wanting to understand it demanded that I unbend it, hold it in my hands -- and quickly lose its magic. Living with fiercely energetic intensity, I got burnt too soon by the dazzling discovery of the nature of things, as well as the inescapable knowledge that it is in the nature of things, inevitably, to be what they are, and nothing else.

The gloom is relieved somewhat by a consolation: it could not have been otherwise.