What you think with words, what you get hold of by way of a grammar, what you write, this forum or hearth where you gather yourself, all of this is like a moon orbiting the planet-earth of your body, while both together, locked in their dance, orbit the sun of being. The sun illuminates both spheres independently, can't tell them apart, and you spin in your own orbit, but you can only go where you are carried by your great world, your mother. You can't look straight at the sun, you don't know its nature, the body, glowing opalescent or fiercely monochrome, is your proxy for it and you are touched to find that you are the same for it (how patiently the body, with all its staggering genius, attends upon your lunatic whims! can you ever repay its faith?), but from time to time you eclipse each other. And this solar system is a crowded one, there are other planets and circling moons everywhere, the orbits tug on each other, become perturbed and difficult to predict on any but the smallest scale. The proximity of another planetary system can disrupt the relations between earth and moon, to say nothing of all the kinds of eclipse you play a role in, wittingly and unwittingly. And even the father-sun, the author of your being orbits something else, a black hole say, and is perturbed by other suns, and the galaxies have their own relations, propelled away from each other, at least as you see it, from the measured time you keep by way of your interwoven processes, your wild and silvery music.