You are not free. Myriad invisible hands hold your hands and direct them. When you rise in anger, a great-grandfather froths at your mouth; when you … - Nikos Kazantzakis

Descend you weary-laden, descend in the dark earth,
help me to finish swiftly my dread master's shroud,
let each hem hold my pain, each corner hide a crow,
a lean, voracious crow to peck his heart out bit by bit.

لقد جاء أحدهم، لا شك بأنه الرب، الرب....أم هل كان الشيطان؟ فمن يستطيع أن يميز بينهما؟ إنهما يتبادلان وجهيهما، أحياناً يصبح الرب مسربلاً بالسواد. ويشع الضياء من الشيطان، و يتبلبل عقل الإنسان. إنهما يمثلان دربين، فأيهما يسلك، و أي دربٍ يختار؟

God huddles in a knot in every cell of flesh. When I break a fruit open, this is how every seed is revealed to me. When I speak to men, this what I discern in their thick and muddy brains. God struggles in every thing, his hands flung upward toward the light. What light? Beyond and above every thing!