The Great Asymptote
It is a curious thing to behold that when my ego sits enthroned in the depths of human depravity and dysfunction like some foolish god, I can do naught but whisper a broken, "De profundis..." while at the heights and fullness of all my joys there is an abiding sense of gratitude. How is it that my spirit cries out to a great unknown without even the conscious exercise of my own will? What great beauty calls to me from beyond the gates of my reason? Why is it that the thud of knees falling to the ground makes more triumphant a sound than all the roar and clang and empty glory of each day? In the all and all, I am bereft of thought and only the stillness is coherent.