Omnia Exeunt In Mysterium

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HE HEARS THE CRY OF THE SEDGE
by W.B. Yeats

I wander by the edge
Of this desolate lake
Where wind cries in the sedge:
Until the axle break
That keeps the stars in their round,
And hands hurl in the deep
The banners of East and West,
And the girdle of light is unbound,
Your breast will not lie by the breast
Of your beloved in sleep.

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Welcome, one and all, to my particular corner of the anthroposphere. An strange and obscure recess I sometimes fear, but never, I hope, a dull one. Perhaps you will find yourself staring into some facet of the truth, glimmering in the pitiless gloom of uncertainty, and yet as you draw closer, all that façade might display is your own reflection. Or perhaps you will see only chimeras, fleeting phantasms and tricks of the light to deceive the unwary and lead them astray. But if you perceive only paradox and contradiction, remember that old Zen logic, "A is A because it is not A" and like Alice, try to believe at least three impossible things before breakfast. For where there is nothing but ambiguity and confusion, we have but one chance and that is to cherish them. We must tear down the false idols of knowledge and truth for all we can ever hope to grasp is a boundless absurdity which will always see the arrogant pursuit of certainty confounded in the end. Yet where there is absurdity, where there is chaos, where there is ambiguity, there is also wonder. And wonder will endure.

HEPTONSTALL OLD CHURCH
by Ted Hughes

A great bird landed here.

Its song drew men out of rock,
Living men out of bog and heather.

Its song put a light in the valleys
And harness on the long moors.

Its song brought a crystal from space
And set it in men's heads.

Then the bird died.

Its giant bones
Blackened and became a mystery.

The crystal in men's heads
Blackened and fell to pieces.

The valleys went out.
The moorland broke loose.

Arrghh!