So many offerings, different recognitions, qualities of spirit that you could almost map, like the great zodiac of life. None of them belongs to you but only among those you don't possess is there one you so feel the lack of that in every other it is the very measure of insufficiency, of the vital gap. You locate yourself not by all the good within your reach but by this lack, and it defines you, or would do so if you once could admit that while desire may have no intrinsic value gratification of desire has even less. But then one day you stumble on a state which is the perfect availability of this missing essence. Is this like coming home, or does it advance the screw of exile one more half-turn? The conception of life is on a different plane from the living, but tantalisingly close, so that we long to lose ourselves in the positive wealth of conceptions rather than face the dire poverty of realisation, collapsing in one stroke desire, distance, place and being, map and territory.