The gods are less for their love of praise. Above and below them all is a spirit that needs nothing but its own wholeness, its health and ours. It has made all things by dividing itself. It will be whole again. To its joy we come together — the seer and the seen, the eater and the eaten, the lover and the loved. In our joining it knows itself. It is with us then, not as the gods whose names crest in unearthly fire, but as a little bird hidden in the leaves who sings quietly and waits, and sings. I go among trees and sit still. All my stirring becomes quiet around me like circles on water. My tasks lie in their places where I left them asleep like cattle. Then what is afraid of me comes and lives a while in my sight. What it fears in me leaves me and the fear of me leaves it. It sings and I hear its song. Than what I am afraid of comes. I live for a while in its sight. What I fear in it leaves it and the fear of it leaves me. It sings and I hear its song.