Zen 2: Fire and Pain
Let thy chief terror be of thine own soul: There, amid the throng of hurrying desires that trample on the dead to seize their spoil, lurks vengeance, footless, irresistible, as exhalations laden with slow death and o’er the fairest troop of captured joys breathes pallid pestilence. –George Eliot 1889 “How much further?” His daughter asked […]
Zen 2: Fire and Pain Read More »








