If every moment has a continued existence in the mind, isn’t it kind to think that the medium,here before you, his handlebar moustache marking him out as eccentric, the tweed trousers a mistake for his years, only forty, stands some suspect chance, admittedly, of revealing to you, the seeker, some hint, a shadow of her heart? www.spicycauldron.com To even have a shadow of a heart, one must first have had a heart, Admitted the senses, the feelings of humanity to oneself, Taken a part in that human game known as life, confessed their mortality. How could I then be known to anyone else? How could he know me? For him to truly know me, I would have to have knowledge of myself And that mystery of self is hazier still to me than to he. http://musingsofkhlari.blogspot.com