Scales fall from my eyes, transforming mere concept into lived reality. What I have long seen through a glass darkly, I glimpse face to face.

I’m digging deep dark down. Mining for gold…for something to write. Somewhere a geyser of words awaits, somewhere Vesuvian vitality pulses.

Experience is always present—rendered one way or another by the consciousness of the experiencing-individual.

Friends talk about their brains, relieved to learn the acclaimed organ accommodates change–even in older age.