From Massachusetts and Collegeville they fly toward me, and perceive their flight they do not. Out of Togo and from under the weight of faith, hovering above slit wrists and the descending peer of physics, up from the post-war footprint of a crushed Germany and out from a world that had never heard of Jesus, Mohammed or Buddha, they seep, seep, seep so deeply.  They are my coinhabitors, bedfellows of my brain.

In fact their vehicle is the medium of all importance.  They ride bursts at their backs which originate in infinite and unnamable fuel.  Theirs is the engine of idea, the propulsion of burning curiosity, the immortal bodies of 'concept' that walk on a drunkard's legs forever and ever through time.

No idea is original and none are duplicate and the paradox is our reality.  They danced and yelled and hollered to frighten away the thieves of the moon and I dance and yell and holler to celebrate that same eclipse.  Salvation is necessary if for no reason than humans' affinity for wrongdoing and guilt and this truth hangs on the stars for every generation to reexamine and define.  Their is no knowing the immortal, only its breath and language, for Immortal lives far away if anywhere.  On Immortal's exhale we find stories for retelling and relearning and a world whose truths can only be understood in their contexts.  God does not connect us; the common mystery of our ancient existence and the questions we mutter at that existence connect us and if those mysteries are God's work then that's her business.  I'm immersed in the same unknowing of Democritus and Archimedes, of Confucius, Paul and Ali, of Darwin and Hesse, which finds me downstream and likewise baffled.

When we are not subject to the same ignorance then we are no longer one and so many we'll never be.  History draws silly lines in the water and on their brevity we stake name and fortune and from them we measure state and progress but in swimming the ocean we've failed and succeeded equally for millenia.  Our inability to escape minutia is remarkable, and only rivaled by the beauty which is our changing description of it.  Through my mind these giants fly and with them come a million more never named by books.  Glad for their company I remain forever, eager to speak what I might when I may.

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