In the cradle of our past, I lay upon my back in a cave so shallow I could
penetrate it only by squirming, not by crawling. There, by the dancing light of
a resin torch, I drew upon walls and ceiling the creatures of the hunt and the
souls of my people. How illuminating it is to peer backward through a perfect
circle at that ancient struggle for the visible moment of the soul. All time
vibrates to that call: "Here I am!" With a mind informed by artist-giants who
came afterward, I peer at handprints and flowing muscles drawn upon the rock
with charcoal and vegetable dyes. How much more we are than mere mechanical
events! And my anti-civil self demands: "Why is it that they do not want to
leave the cave?"

-- The Stolen Journals
--[god-emperor]--