The cubby, cozy rapture of invocation, the sensual enticement of the divine. What seems a small trinket of devotion grows immense. Work--lazily, hungrily, ardently, and patiently--but work. There is grandeur and intoxicating joy in the solitude and longing, but anguish too--Pan's mocking grin leering through cold marble. The world offers seeming succor from the desire for that which ever withdraws as one approaches, but labor on. There is an End.
"But all we say and do, however casually, adds up to more, far more, than our most strenuous Operations. 'Take care of the pence, and the pounds will take care of themselves.'" - Commentaries of AL