and then our exile

Memory and desire, stirring
dull roots with spring rain.
--TSEliot

One of those days of delicious melancholy, when the outside is billowing grae clouds wind and constant drizzle and the inside is stirred to scenes of solitary candle-flame the expanse of wasteland and beauty. But that i were bound to previous misdeeds, i could ask for nothing further: how i would soar!
This is where i bow out in self-horror, that i type such without drowning.

People, Shaitan is seriously EVIL. Remain firm through every instance and ACT on the knowledge that the hablAllah is the *only* wae to perpetually holding fast to one's own self. Time is not only "of the essence", it IS the essence: we are our Time. Death arrives without warning--afterwards, and even now, nothing else has meaning.