Tone on Tone/Of All That Is

The part of me which must succeed must never get lost, but the part of me which needs to live must be free to wander without fear of wandering. I found that line in an old novel of mine I looked to today to respond to my bitterly Jesuit-trained friend Eugene in response to poems he sent me; my response is meant to illuminate the richness of our seminar yesterday and at the same time the decades-ongoing banter he and I swim in, into which you also are welcome to wade (...and this is not writing, but wandering, which, as I said, I must). What the Jesuits taught you and Eugene indeed is to read (and other friends of mine, some still tormented). You Catholics are almost Jewish with meaning, almost Platonic with palimpsests and palindromes, cabalistically crusted with gematriac gems. We all hate tedious messages such as this, but things could be worse--I might send you all the notes my mother sends to me, or I might read this novel to you over the telephone, charges reversed. Anyhow, if I find your address Ill send you this mess, and good luck to you. Had you never learned to read you might just hunt mushrooms and catch fish and never worry with Herakleitos. It is a dive. The Devils Den is bleak and not at all colorful. The red and blue bulbs cast so little light they leave the eye straining to discern forms dark and colorless. Oh, you can make out everything, but no detail or inherent hue is manifest. It is as if your eyes felt things blindly in the dark, like radar outlining the somethings, where they are, but not at all like it would be to see a streaking screaming silver fighter plane spinning and careening, laying out its spider-web fiber staid and stable in the sky as the plane itself is mercurialness, this cloudy trail a flag, a battle banner strong but flexible in…