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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 8, Number 1, March 2014


Jerry Gill
Hertford, North Carolina, USA

Late Autumn Fog

"Ah! We know next to nothing about the universe around us or about the world we inhabit or even about ourselves," the old monk said to his four pupils sitting in front of him. He was silent for thirty seconds. His pupils fidgeted.

"About all we have are a lot of words like eternal, infinite, space, gravity, time, creation, God, stars . . . . But what do they MEAN? What ARE time, creation, gravity, God, the infinite, and so on? Who are WE? WHO ARE WE? We think we know, because we use a lot of fancy words. We DON'T know. We know only the empty sounds of empty words, just like the words I've just spoken to you. Silence is best. . . . Go—and be silent. . . ."

late-autumn fog
barely visible in it
the forgotten scarecrow



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