One summer's morning, 16 years back, I was hijacked by God while running - running for my life - in the hills outside of Baker City, Oregon. Born again. Prior to being Struck, I was a devout secularist. And after... well, against all my training and education, and with no hint or warning, through dreams and visions and heart-wrenching synchronicity, Jesus began his visitations. His invitations. I got found. For a year, I searched, but before I could find a church that might hold or contain me, I was swept up in various Sufi, new age, indigenous and gnostic circles, often under the guidance of exceptionally deep and wizened masters. That's the way it was for years. And my relationship with Jesus remained largely private. And so this precious relationship, it faltered and grew faint, as it would. Martin, you spoke here that the search "starts to build into rock and stops fetishising sand." My search... I... I got lost in the sand, becoming ever more anxious and thirsty. Because of your turn of phrase, for me, it's an eye-popping or head-splitting observation you've made. Because I was once in the company of a renowned Baktashi (Sufi) sheik, Metin Abi, on that glorious island of Bayukada in the straights of Istanbul. And I sheepishly asked Metin, "Who was the first Sufi?" And he replied, "This is a very meaningful question with a very important answer: Isa. Jesus was the first Sufi." My heart leapt! He continued, "Isa... He is the Gate of Sand." No ill and nothing in the least against all of my teachers as their wisdom is real, hard earned, and their hearts are true. I love these teachers, love the life we've shared together, and love what has been learned through them. What's that you're so fond of saying? "Saint Augustine: All truth is God's Truth. Pinpricks..." But sand. So it remained for me, for me and Isa, Isa... the perfect Sufi, the perfect devotee, the great prophet and master teacher, my Brother before, beside and within me. But shifting sand. No rock. No Christ. No Church. No hard stone, no foundation with which to build upon. Yet finally, through all my yearning on this long and twisting journey, the sand on the path has begun to yield to stone. The wild miracle of Yeshua, Christ, has returned for me. Happy Anniversary Martin! <3
What a story - wow - thank you Leif. Yes, that saying from Augustine is a foundational stone for me. I'm so wonderfully glad the wild miracle has returned for us both! Or we returned to him.
You know, I want to say something about an eagle and the Spirit that resides there; and about the breath, and the Spirit that rises in the breath; and about wild nature and the Spirit that inhabits the stones, the waters, the trees and sky; I want to say something about the Spirit that moves the Sun and Moon, that turns the wheeling fires in the heavens above; something about the shamanic drum, and about songs of joy, longing and of gratitude; and also something about unbridled and reckless passion. I want to say something about the strange and beautiful mystery of this world, and something about the real, reality-shattering punch of the miraculous. I want to say something about how Jesus came to my twin brother and pulled the cancer from his neck while dispelling the darkness from his heart. Jesus the Healer; Jesus the Ferryman, the Guide and the Light Bringer; Jesus: Redeemer, Messiah, Son of God, Son of Man, and the greatest of God’s miracles; Jesus the man, the man sacrificed and broken on the Cross; Jesus, Conqueror of Death and King of the World. I want to make a statement about God’s Love, and about Truth with that capital T, and about God’s Will, all of which must naturally be one, seamless whole: a whole embrace which can never be wriggled free from, which can never be dented or diminished… but an embrace which can, by God’s loving will, so easily be dismissed and forgotten. For a time anyway. I want to say something about the power of stories, and of The Story.
But… But. I’ll wait. This, what I shared above, this is not a story, just a pointed anecdote and realization. A simple sharing. Stories. I have stories to tell. Stories of break-ups and break-downs; of swashbuckling land pirates and bombastic lizard lords; of Tuscan romantics and of heaving Italian breasts. Of duels with Satan in the frozen depths of hell, and of salsa dances. Of Franco Santoro and Umberto Eco; of bungled heists, wayward kisses and failed pilgrimages. A toothless Indian, an Irish poet, an African dreamer. Of Bush Pig and Peachy, of Carmelite monks, of Lakota punks, of Lady Christ and Pele and bodhisattvas, and of wild wild horses. And of trollops, temptresses… and the fairest of maidens. Mothers. Of death, and the dead. Of sexual hijinks, sexual transgressions and of deep depression. Of red red wine, Jerry Jeff Walker and beer and whisky with soda. Talking foxes. Don Quixote. Invisible star fleets. Of whirling dervishes in desperation, of Bengali playboys, swamp witches, heavenly princesses, and old stone bridges. Of mysterious caves, a golden book within a glowing orb, a prison for ghosts, misty rivers, fairytale woods, an exploding volcano, desert dunes, lost highways, lonely beaches, and a holy mountain. Stairs of Repentance. An electric chair. Hot springs and head-wounds. Roses and smoke. Triumphs, and utter defeat. A haunted castle. Sheep pastures. A falling star. A planet of peace. A world at its end. A heavenly temple. Angels. And demons. And more. All true. All full of the broken-hearted quest, to be sure, but also with many broken windows. And, best of all… these stories, they're all full of God. And some are full of Jesus. And most are replete with those dry, shifting sands. But the path is the path. Only God knows why: the twists and turns, the deserts, the bumps and breaks, the tangled woods. Jesus found me, by grace he did. I tried, but I lost him. For years I bounced along, and eventually, in recent months, fell back into total darkness. Where, amidst the screaming black silence of my traumas and fears, He's found me again. He’s found me different this time. These stories, this is simply what happened in-between.
I’ve only just barely begun my time with the Orthodox Church and faith, Saint James, right here in Fort Collins, Colorado. But full of anticipation. And Martin, I’m very excited for your upcoming course with The Symbolic World. I’ll be in the audience, or a participant, which ever it is! Amen. And ole!
Sometimes we write and then discover later the hidden places we have written about are real. My first novel in a trilogy was of Cormac mac Airt, and there you are standing at the Caves of Kesh Corran in Sligo, the largest one known as Cormac's cave. I, for one, will never hate you for 'finding' in your searches, because those who 'find' are beacons for those who are searching. And the 'finding' as you rightly stated is never the ending of a search but another beginning. Why rest at all? we have forever. ***
Our landscapes are so different yet the path feels the same. I ponder the word “finding” and the nuances of surrender and simply Being that it holds. And, again, the balance: the necessity of seeking to allow the existence of finding (and vice versa) and the treasure and beauty of both. So good!!!
We are all comrades in allowing the journey of our ever-expanding hearts and oh-my-gosh what a treat to be here with you all. This morning I awoke in the wee hours and lit candles instead of flipping a switch. I made a bee-line to my south-facing window to greet Sirius who has been perfectly framed there lately. I fed the cats, then stepped outside to check in on Jupiter and Orion and a small and fierce Mars. I notice how the crescent moon, shaped like a cup, communes with Regulus in the Eastern sky. I step back inside and take in the lovely environment a past me created and as I wash the bowls I made in the kitchen sink, my beloved little dog tippy taps past me. I read your post while the sun began to stretch through the mulberry tree and arrived, dappled, into my home. Can you count how many times I wept this morning :)? It surprises me how cracked open I’ve been. It’s almost unbearable. A preparation for eternity. Thanks, as always, for your sharing. I’m so grateful!!! Every best birthday wish to you.
Oh my goodness. I just read through the posts. Thank you one and all. I got a vision last night that this group coming together each Sunday is like my students arriving each morning with their treasures, pockets stuffed with beauty to share with their classmates. They are always so excited as we do our daily "good things" sharing. I celebrate this day, communing with you and loving our Lord in this life. Here's to beauty eternal and many Happy Birthdays, Martin :)
Many happy returns of the day dear Martin - bright beautiful words as always. An aspect of your work I have always loved is how you so gently and kindly remind us that we must always arrive at discipline, commitment - simply showing up and doing the work, hands in the dirt - literal and psychic - like a rugged old zen master :-) Sending much love to you on this auspicious day dear friend
The Hardy poem brought back memories - sadness mixed with gratitude that I had those past joys. Now on to some thoughts that may pertain to your anniversary - The present warm specific humanity of Jesus. When Paul asked "Who are you Lord" the reply was "I am Jesus of Nazareth" not the "Incarnate Word" or the like. Jesus of Nazareth, who ate and fellowshipped comfortably with the worst and they with him, can be dehumanized and generalized into a cosmic force, a man made idol.
" I am with you unto the end of the age" "Come learn of me for I am gentle and humble of heart and you shall find rest for your souls for my yoke is easy and my burden light" “Jesus Christ the same, yesterday, today and forever” May we learn of him of him in this “even as you received Christ Jesus as Lord so walk in him” and “grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” yes, the “gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord”
Lines from a poem by John Greenleaf Whittier, termed the Quaker poet.
I spent so long trying to make myself grow toward the light, oblivious that the real task was simply to sink my roots as deep into the dark soil as they could reach. Nature would take care of the rest. Happy birthday, Martin. Enormously grateful for your company on this road.
Thank you Martin. That’s beautiful. Happy birthday! I just closed the final page of Anna Karenina last night. I’ve been savoring it over the last couple months. I didn’t plan to read it, but my friend put a copy in the back of my car. She asked “Will you read this so I have someone to talk with about it?” Gratefully, I didn’t know the novel, only its famous title. Suffice it to say it has taken my breath away. I mention it, well just because… the great desire of all desires… the desire for the Good.
Robert Bly used to tell me about that book on long car rides - I have it on the shelf and later today - after the mornings writing - I will light the fire and crack the spine. Thank you x
That’s wonderful. I visit with my 91-year-old friend once a week she taught Russian lit back in the day. I have been so grateful to have someone to talk with about it on the reading journey. Dersu Uzala came to mind as well… take care
Thank you for sharing the birthday gift of your pilgrim story, told with discernment and gobstruck (love that word) with humility. Ogso for the good peek at a Skin Boat gathering & Hardy poem. Cheers to you!
So good to know that all the seeking and questing are not in vain. In one of my poems I call myself a yearner rather than a seeker — because seekers find things and I just keep yearning. I look for what I call glimmers, and as I was reading this I realized the glimmers are of the luminous at the end of seeking. Thank you for what you have found.
“In every experience of beauty we are being prepared for eternity.”
Happy Anniversary or Happy Birthday! It is Both! And it is beautiful!
There is something in your story, in your telling, that I need. It reminds me of my experience as a boy, walking home on a cold winter’s night with a friend. The snow squeaked underfoot and I looked up at the stars, the Milky Way. Suddenly, I felt an intense love. All was beautiful! I told my friend I had been touched by the Holy Spirit. He said he felt it too. Shortly after we were both baptized.
I am a soon to be a retiring accountant. Numbers, computers, contracts! Always busy! I feel I may have been asleep in busyness of business for a long time. But your story tells me the boy inside is still there. It is not that during my career I had no moments of beautiful insights and experiences. I had profound experiences that led me and my wife to Orthodoxy. It’s just life seemed to get in the way of seeing beauty. Then just at the right time, your story comes along and says that it is all okay. That there is an ebb and flow to the intensity in our God experience. “That In every experience of beauty we are being prepared for eternity.” Thank you, Martin! Thank you!
Sometimes I wonder if it’s not that we’ve found something but Who we’ve found combined with what’s required once you find Him that causes fear or balking in those who are okay with the search.
Anyway, happy birthday! May you find joy and beauty and love on the shores this year!
What a moving telling of your story, from a slightly different slant, which reveals how it’s uniquely yours, and at the same time the same path we all are set down on at the trailhead.
The Hardy poem is perfect. It syncs with what I realized last week, when out under a sky filled with a dramatic cloud display: that I was the only creature on earth seeing that particular performance, no one else was near the GPS where I walked. And it was a lavish feast, in the way that Emerson spoke of it, « The sky is the daily bread for the eyes. »
Thank you, Martin, for continuing to invite us to find the table where our souls will be satisfied.
I’ll say it again, happy birthday, Martin, and happy rebirthday too. I hope you know that your presence is a gift to all of us. Quest on.
One summer's morning, 16 years back, I was hijacked by God while running - running for my life - in the hills outside of Baker City, Oregon. Born again. Prior to being Struck, I was a devout secularist. And after... well, against all my training and education, and with no hint or warning, through dreams and visions and heart-wrenching synchronicity, Jesus began his visitations. His invitations. I got found. For a year, I searched, but before I could find a church that might hold or contain me, I was swept up in various Sufi, new age, indigenous and gnostic circles, often under the guidance of exceptionally deep and wizened masters. That's the way it was for years. And my relationship with Jesus remained largely private. And so this precious relationship, it faltered and grew faint, as it would. Martin, you spoke here that the search "starts to build into rock and stops fetishising sand." My search... I... I got lost in the sand, becoming ever more anxious and thirsty. Because of your turn of phrase, for me, it's an eye-popping or head-splitting observation you've made. Because I was once in the company of a renowned Baktashi (Sufi) sheik, Metin Abi, on that glorious island of Bayukada in the straights of Istanbul. And I sheepishly asked Metin, "Who was the first Sufi?" And he replied, "This is a very meaningful question with a very important answer: Isa. Jesus was the first Sufi." My heart leapt! He continued, "Isa... He is the Gate of Sand." No ill and nothing in the least against all of my teachers as their wisdom is real, hard earned, and their hearts are true. I love these teachers, love the life we've shared together, and love what has been learned through them. What's that you're so fond of saying? "Saint Augustine: All truth is God's Truth. Pinpricks..." But sand. So it remained for me, for me and Isa, Isa... the perfect Sufi, the perfect devotee, the great prophet and master teacher, my Brother before, beside and within me. But shifting sand. No rock. No Christ. No Church. No hard stone, no foundation with which to build upon. Yet finally, through all my yearning on this long and twisting journey, the sand on the path has begun to yield to stone. The wild miracle of Yeshua, Christ, has returned for me. Happy Anniversary Martin! <3
What a story - wow - thank you Leif. Yes, that saying from Augustine is a foundational stone for me. I'm so wonderfully glad the wild miracle has returned for us both! Or we returned to him.
You know, I want to say something about an eagle and the Spirit that resides there; and about the breath, and the Spirit that rises in the breath; and about wild nature and the Spirit that inhabits the stones, the waters, the trees and sky; I want to say something about the Spirit that moves the Sun and Moon, that turns the wheeling fires in the heavens above; something about the shamanic drum, and about songs of joy, longing and of gratitude; and also something about unbridled and reckless passion. I want to say something about the strange and beautiful mystery of this world, and something about the real, reality-shattering punch of the miraculous. I want to say something about how Jesus came to my twin brother and pulled the cancer from his neck while dispelling the darkness from his heart. Jesus the Healer; Jesus the Ferryman, the Guide and the Light Bringer; Jesus: Redeemer, Messiah, Son of God, Son of Man, and the greatest of God’s miracles; Jesus the man, the man sacrificed and broken on the Cross; Jesus, Conqueror of Death and King of the World. I want to make a statement about God’s Love, and about Truth with that capital T, and about God’s Will, all of which must naturally be one, seamless whole: a whole embrace which can never be wriggled free from, which can never be dented or diminished… but an embrace which can, by God’s loving will, so easily be dismissed and forgotten. For a time anyway. I want to say something about the power of stories, and of The Story.
But… But. I’ll wait. This, what I shared above, this is not a story, just a pointed anecdote and realization. A simple sharing. Stories. I have stories to tell. Stories of break-ups and break-downs; of swashbuckling land pirates and bombastic lizard lords; of Tuscan romantics and of heaving Italian breasts. Of duels with Satan in the frozen depths of hell, and of salsa dances. Of Franco Santoro and Umberto Eco; of bungled heists, wayward kisses and failed pilgrimages. A toothless Indian, an Irish poet, an African dreamer. Of Bush Pig and Peachy, of Carmelite monks, of Lakota punks, of Lady Christ and Pele and bodhisattvas, and of wild wild horses. And of trollops, temptresses… and the fairest of maidens. Mothers. Of death, and the dead. Of sexual hijinks, sexual transgressions and of deep depression. Of red red wine, Jerry Jeff Walker and beer and whisky with soda. Talking foxes. Don Quixote. Invisible star fleets. Of whirling dervishes in desperation, of Bengali playboys, swamp witches, heavenly princesses, and old stone bridges. Of mysterious caves, a golden book within a glowing orb, a prison for ghosts, misty rivers, fairytale woods, an exploding volcano, desert dunes, lost highways, lonely beaches, and a holy mountain. Stairs of Repentance. An electric chair. Hot springs and head-wounds. Roses and smoke. Triumphs, and utter defeat. A haunted castle. Sheep pastures. A falling star. A planet of peace. A world at its end. A heavenly temple. Angels. And demons. And more. All true. All full of the broken-hearted quest, to be sure, but also with many broken windows. And, best of all… these stories, they're all full of God. And some are full of Jesus. And most are replete with those dry, shifting sands. But the path is the path. Only God knows why: the twists and turns, the deserts, the bumps and breaks, the tangled woods. Jesus found me, by grace he did. I tried, but I lost him. For years I bounced along, and eventually, in recent months, fell back into total darkness. Where, amidst the screaming black silence of my traumas and fears, He's found me again. He’s found me different this time. These stories, this is simply what happened in-between.
I’ve only just barely begun my time with the Orthodox Church and faith, Saint James, right here in Fort Collins, Colorado. But full of anticipation. And Martin, I’m very excited for your upcoming course with The Symbolic World. I’ll be in the audience, or a participant, which ever it is! Amen. And ole!
My brother before, beside and within me...oh man....thank you lief
Sometimes we write and then discover later the hidden places we have written about are real. My first novel in a trilogy was of Cormac mac Airt, and there you are standing at the Caves of Kesh Corran in Sligo, the largest one known as Cormac's cave. I, for one, will never hate you for 'finding' in your searches, because those who 'find' are beacons for those who are searching. And the 'finding' as you rightly stated is never the ending of a search but another beginning. Why rest at all? we have forever. ***
Nothing wasted in the good economy, Dwina! 😊👍
Once we have seen or heard we are content to help others find the latch and peer through for themselves.
yes yes yes yes yes and YES.
Our landscapes are so different yet the path feels the same. I ponder the word “finding” and the nuances of surrender and simply Being that it holds. And, again, the balance: the necessity of seeking to allow the existence of finding (and vice versa) and the treasure and beauty of both. So good!!!
We are all comrades in allowing the journey of our ever-expanding hearts and oh-my-gosh what a treat to be here with you all. This morning I awoke in the wee hours and lit candles instead of flipping a switch. I made a bee-line to my south-facing window to greet Sirius who has been perfectly framed there lately. I fed the cats, then stepped outside to check in on Jupiter and Orion and a small and fierce Mars. I notice how the crescent moon, shaped like a cup, communes with Regulus in the Eastern sky. I step back inside and take in the lovely environment a past me created and as I wash the bowls I made in the kitchen sink, my beloved little dog tippy taps past me. I read your post while the sun began to stretch through the mulberry tree and arrived, dappled, into my home. Can you count how many times I wept this morning :)? It surprises me how cracked open I’ve been. It’s almost unbearable. A preparation for eternity. Thanks, as always, for your sharing. I’m so grateful!!! Every best birthday wish to you.
Thank you Megan - you've reminded me to watch the sky, as well as the fields, sheep and hills I see from my autumnal window.
Oh my goodness. I just read through the posts. Thank you one and all. I got a vision last night that this group coming together each Sunday is like my students arriving each morning with their treasures, pockets stuffed with beauty to share with their classmates. They are always so excited as we do our daily "good things" sharing. I celebrate this day, communing with you and loving our Lord in this life. Here's to beauty eternal and many Happy Birthdays, Martin :)
I love the comments too - thank you Kathleen!
Happy anniversary Martin! Many years.
Cheers my friend. And thank you for some timely nudges over that period. Now come back to the wild islands of the North Atlantic! Enjoy NY.
Many happy returns of the day dear Martin - bright beautiful words as always. An aspect of your work I have always loved is how you so gently and kindly remind us that we must always arrive at discipline, commitment - simply showing up and doing the work, hands in the dirt - literal and psychic - like a rugged old zen master :-) Sending much love to you on this auspicious day dear friend
Thank's Georgina - I remember you well, and look forward to you being amongst us again.
The Hardy poem brought back memories - sadness mixed with gratitude that I had those past joys. Now on to some thoughts that may pertain to your anniversary - The present warm specific humanity of Jesus. When Paul asked "Who are you Lord" the reply was "I am Jesus of Nazareth" not the "Incarnate Word" or the like. Jesus of Nazareth, who ate and fellowshipped comfortably with the worst and they with him, can be dehumanized and generalized into a cosmic force, a man made idol.
" I am with you unto the end of the age" "Come learn of me for I am gentle and humble of heart and you shall find rest for your souls for my yoke is easy and my burden light" “Jesus Christ the same, yesterday, today and forever” May we learn of him of him in this “even as you received Christ Jesus as Lord so walk in him” and “grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” yes, the “gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord”
Lines from a poem by John Greenleaf Whittier, termed the Quaker poet.
We may not climb the heavenly steeps
to bring the Lord Christ down;
in vain we search the lowest deeps,
for him no depths can drown:
But warm, sweet, tender, even yet
a present help is he;
and faith has still its Olivet,
and love its Galilee.
The healing of his seamless dress
is by our beds of pain;
we touch him in life's throng and press,
and we are whole again
Thank you dear bearded tree, I didn't know Whittier.
And we are content to be obscure gatekeepers for others…
I spent so long trying to make myself grow toward the light, oblivious that the real task was simply to sink my roots as deep into the dark soil as they could reach. Nature would take care of the rest. Happy birthday, Martin. Enormously grateful for your company on this road.
Thank you Martin. That’s beautiful. Happy birthday! I just closed the final page of Anna Karenina last night. I’ve been savoring it over the last couple months. I didn’t plan to read it, but my friend put a copy in the back of my car. She asked “Will you read this so I have someone to talk with about it?” Gratefully, I didn’t know the novel, only its famous title. Suffice it to say it has taken my breath away. I mention it, well just because… the great desire of all desires… the desire for the Good.
Robert Bly used to tell me about that book on long car rides - I have it on the shelf and later today - after the mornings writing - I will light the fire and crack the spine. Thank you x
That’s wonderful. I visit with my 91-year-old friend once a week she taught Russian lit back in the day. I have been so grateful to have someone to talk with about it on the reading journey. Dersu Uzala came to mind as well… take care
Thank you for sharing the birthday gift of your pilgrim story, told with discernment and gobstruck (love that word) with humility. Ogso for the good peek at a Skin Boat gathering & Hardy poem. Cheers to you!
Whew the Hardy! Thank you.
Pairs swimmingly with today's matins song John 20:1-10☦️❤️
I know! ;)
So good to know that all the seeking and questing are not in vain. In one of my poems I call myself a yearner rather than a seeker — because seekers find things and I just keep yearning. I look for what I call glimmers, and as I was reading this I realized the glimmers are of the luminous at the end of seeking. Thank you for what you have found.
A Yearner - that's terrific.
“In every experience of beauty we are being prepared for eternity.”
Happy Anniversary or Happy Birthday! It is Both! And it is beautiful!
There is something in your story, in your telling, that I need. It reminds me of my experience as a boy, walking home on a cold winter’s night with a friend. The snow squeaked underfoot and I looked up at the stars, the Milky Way. Suddenly, I felt an intense love. All was beautiful! I told my friend I had been touched by the Holy Spirit. He said he felt it too. Shortly after we were both baptized.
I am a soon to be a retiring accountant. Numbers, computers, contracts! Always busy! I feel I may have been asleep in busyness of business for a long time. But your story tells me the boy inside is still there. It is not that during my career I had no moments of beautiful insights and experiences. I had profound experiences that led me and my wife to Orthodoxy. It’s just life seemed to get in the way of seeing beauty. Then just at the right time, your story comes along and says that it is all okay. That there is an ebb and flow to the intensity in our God experience. “That In every experience of beauty we are being prepared for eternity.” Thank you, Martin! Thank you!
Good cheer Mark - and thank you for sharing a little of your story. And here's to your next and deepest adventure!
Sometimes I wonder if it’s not that we’ve found something but Who we’ve found combined with what’s required once you find Him that causes fear or balking in those who are okay with the search.
Anyway, happy birthday! May you find joy and beauty and love on the shores this year!
What a moving telling of your story, from a slightly different slant, which reveals how it’s uniquely yours, and at the same time the same path we all are set down on at the trailhead.
The Hardy poem is perfect. It syncs with what I realized last week, when out under a sky filled with a dramatic cloud display: that I was the only creature on earth seeing that particular performance, no one else was near the GPS where I walked. And it was a lavish feast, in the way that Emerson spoke of it, « The sky is the daily bread for the eyes. »
Thank you, Martin, for continuing to invite us to find the table where our souls will be satisfied.
"The sky is the daily bread for the eyes" - thank's Gretchen, I'd never read that - I haven't read enough Emerson.
I have read next to nothing of Emerson myself, but that thought took hold in my imagination when first I heard it quoted.