March 17, 1798
Dear Darkfriend, I ask you if you feel. Do you feel it as I do, how She rises from us or how we fall from Her, the She who is bigger than the sun? Bigger than allsuns, Darkfriend. Do you feel how the earth is merely a tear of Hers, and every day of our waking up and walking around describe the arc of an infinite fall? Do you feel this chill sometimes, this chill wholly, that She may have already forgotten She ever cried? That She who is beyond reason and memory and dream may have already denied that She was once lonely? And She cried forth our earth? Now She looks at this world with amusement – do you still feel her, She of the allfun? – as if it were a surprise toy. As if there were any other Kosmos it could come from, any other One Face. As if She was never alone, never will be, and thus never a mother.