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| �Once god has set your feet upon the arduous task of solitary contemplation, once you are lost to the world with no one to guide you but a Job�s comforter or builder from the tower of Babel, what could be more disillusioning, Hallucinatory, more disquieting, then to find your spiritual life languishing, impatient, drying up, dying of thirst for an intimate understanding, your prayers undermined by doubt, your tongue itching, paralyzed, burned alive by the unpronounceable and the incommunicable, your concentration disrupted by it's own feverish emanations which bombard you with chimeras, fantasies, visions, discarded illusions, and obsessive ideas, while your body refuses to go on, jibs, bridles, sweats, froths at the mouth before at last surrendering and letting itself go exhausted falling down as if dead, dead to the world, distracted, giddy, absent, buried in its own excrement, exposed on the alter of sacrifice, secret victim, or one crucified at the cross roads, crushed, turned to dust, the dust that cements the trampled paving stones, used up, wiped out, split, and everything cracking, and everything crumbling at the resurrection of the bones and of the flesh ?� - Cendrars |
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