The Mysterious Female My impatience jumps out at me from the page, and it stabs at my resolve.
I can feel more seperate from myself, streaching to learn the importance of values.
Today, I remembered the first time that I realized it was important to tell people how you feel about them. It seems long ago. Contrary to what I perceived then, the revelation came in a dismal environment. I had pushed my closest relations to the edge, and I had turned in those I loved for the uncomforting magnificence of the world's empty pursuits. Even in that time, I had people all around, but to connect to them was impossible. My most valuable lesson was learned in that time. I told those who I knew I loved them. I understood my mistakes and accepted them with a sense of finality, but with also an appreciation for the future and second chances. I think it was in a most dismal time then that I had seen these things. I think only now that with hindsight I can make out the darkness.

And one day there was a rainbow. It was in May, at sunrise. I had spent the previous night on a rolling high. We laughed and joked, we played like kids and never thought about it. We moved outside in the early hours to get stoned in the park. On the morning dew grass. In the summer morning sky. A rainbow, loud and beautiful, arched over the sky. Bridging our futures with our past. How many ways can history repeat itself?

I took from that day these memories, a book and a belief. When I finished the book I nearly cried. I was on the last chapter, on the bench of the golfcourse near my house. My father was in sight, on the hill that was so large in my youth.
Dominique Francon is in New York, ascending a construction elevator on the city's tallest skyscraper. She recounts her emotions, her amazement, her humbleness. She remembers the years of seperation from her love, she recalls the visible wounds she acceptingly suffered for him. She ascends further up the building, now only a raw steel structure. She sees him. He is standing as part of the structure itself, hundreds of feet from the earth, building toward the sky. She knows him. She knows he is a man of his work, not seperate from it. He is a man of virtue, value and uncomprimising spirit. She arrives at sunset and as he recognizes her, he is not suprised, he is understanding. And he sees in her the same soul of virtue.
I nearly cry. It is warm; a late May evening, still with the freshness of spring in the air. I can't move, I am wrapped in her arms. I wonder if this spirit exists. Can I follow this belief? My father is still ahead of me. He is on top of the biggest hill of my childhood. I stand up and run to where he is and try to put everything into words. He understands, I know. But you have to try to put everything into words. Then the time is passed. We join together in games we've played for years. Though, now, I am keenly aware of the time and of the spirit in that place.

Things are cyclical. There are dismal hours. There are places of ill. Though, they are never without friends, never without hope, and never without spirit. The most inexpliciable is the most true. The most intangible is the most real. It is not what is seen, but what is felt that leads the way. It all goes on.

Something from the Tao Te Ching:

The Valley Spirit never dies.
It is named the Mysterious Female.
And the doorway of the Mysterious Female
Is the base from which Heaven and Earth sprang.
It is there within us all the while.
Draw upon it as you will, It never runs dry.

P  ¶ 20:08