T.S. Eliot

The great mystery to me. His writing is always bewildering, on the verge of non-sense. But in his writing I find deep spiritual echoes to my experiences….

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.

Four Quartets, “Burnt Norton”

Well, this is what it is to work on memory and wyrd…

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