`A fountain of gardens and a well of living waters' - Entrance to the Magical Qabalah
I am walking in a thick white mist; my feet tread lightly upon an insubstantial ground, lifted, perhaps, by the wonder
and awe in my heart. Fleeting visions of perfection swirl around me, and in each moment that my mind rests upon a new glory
I fall in love with it, and I ravish it, and it is no longer. But I do not mourn its passing, for there is no seperation between
one moment and the next, one love and the next, one victory and the next. And yet they are all so different they are yet one
and the same. I am chasing something, I know, some mysterious beauty which hides behind the endless appearances of its perfection.
Each equisite moment reveals its fallacy in the perfection of the next. The awe in my heart gorges itself on the mystery and
on the tantalising tastes that its transitory revelations afford me.
I feel myself to be living within the eternal moment of the ultimate orgasm.