If men’s work has a touchstone, it is surely this: “The Child is father of the Man.” And who else but the propitiously named Wordsworth could have rendered it with such Zen-like simplicity?
The man who blames his past for his present has found decent accommodation for a low price. He isn’t going anywhere.
If you ask nine different people what man is, or what God is, or what anything is, you’ll get nine different answers. We use words thinking they will mean the same thing to others as they mean to us. But they don’t. They can’t. Everybody understands everything through the filter of his own experience.
Numbers are clear, but words are vague, foggy, obfuscating and contradictory. That’s why the heart doesn’t use them, and why lovers need silence.