How do you put into words the surges and urges of the soul?  Formless feelings and thoughts that you comprehend without asking, without logic.  Such are the moments when you are alone in the universe within yourself.  All other concerns are meaningless and extraneous.  Everything beyond the mold of your skin is another reality; one that you observe from a distance of two inches or two miles.  There is no measurable distance between the universe of self and the universe of not self.  You forget your name, your place, your society.  All there is to know is inward, ever inward, and you search not for there is nothing to be searched and nothing to be found.  You are you, whoever you are, whatever you may be, and that is enough.

It has been another very difficult day at work.  The amount of ineptitudes that can occur within a group of very bright individuals is staggering.  The surface is all hustle and bustle, a slick engine of productivity all gears blazing forward like a bullet train.  But beneath the conductor's cap is a monkey.  Every passenger a monkey.  And the monkeys are all trying to figure out when the banana peel is going to drop.  So to speak.

Another trying day.  Another day when I wonder what I'm doing in my monkey mask.

Then I read Miller; his essay, "Patchen:  Man of Anger and Light".  And I am humbled again.  What well-fed monkey has a right to complain about his bunch of bananas when out there in the world are real men living a real life? fighting for ideals with fire, brimstone, and acceptance.

Acceptance that things are as they are.  Accept, do you as you will, fight for what you wish for, but accept the world as it is every moment that you are.  And what joy it is to come across a word that you'd forgotten about and to be reacquainted like long lost friends.  What joy it is to immerse yourself in a world of words woven with care, genius, and ideals.  It makes a monkey want to shave--the better to make pretenses at being a man.