| p113 | The way of knowing encountered between unities is like to poetry and dissonant to fact, so different than the way of knowing that was before, that words, even of the poet or mystic fail to convey the way it is. Instead it is in the shushing and leaping that the brook carries the stream along, meandering into the heart that knows not its source and cares not to dissect its content. It is a spring of bubbling water. |