"There is the Voice seducing us, calling us to a leap of faith like the deer plunging over the precipice. The Unborn Sphere is everywhere, as is the Hand of God, the Source, the Absolute, out of which flow the streams of faith, the sound of every bell, and the fall of every flower and leaf. Tiny things, sparrows, know the Way of Heaven. There is synesthesia and the juxtaposition of the abstract and the concrete, water turned to bird and whispering fish, satori in the splitting of the moon in a moment of sadness, the poet born again, steeped in sin and the unspeakable mystery of baptismal washing in every tradition. Everywhere too is the cross and sacrament, gratitude for the holocaust of dust and ashes, the tornado-like union of life and death in resurrection."