Admission

That I like to hear my own voice, the sounds I make have a nuance, a deeper hue, a subtler shade of meaning inevitable without choice. I am neither more nor less of a brag than you, nor headstrong nor opinionated; we clash and mark separate zones, hoist flags and call them boxes our countries and that is less my self-will than your refusal to see what I hear and what I hear is what you say seen through my eyes. I am neither more nor less blind than you yet when you see space and insist that I agree to call it sky, I shy away from not so much the truth as I refuse to indulge your blinkered insistence . For space being space is devoid of pining down but an all encompassing wide vista. My object though, is not to make you grow nor so much myself grow that I don't see you. So understand, my dear, that we are a shared myth on the brink of collective believing in this and that, not this or that, for in the final analysis there it's no knowing whether the egg was the mother of the hen that laid it and until we find a way to know that, shall we agree to believe in the sorcery of God?