In Search of the Miraculous

 I was in search of it too. Not in Europe or India or anywhere below the seven spheres. Escape from the labyrinth of contradictions, leaving Philadelphia at the beginning of this journey was no road, but there was a way. Walk ye in it. Peril with blessing walked, their hands knit. While Mark Leon when to India, Karl Hillie to Dorethea Dix in the search, I walked the road past the dragon reeds, to Glastonbury, up the Tor, into the Snowden mountains, from the Puntarenas shore, didn't stop for air, took strides, made music and sounded up in these accounts to tell nothing at all. Don't tell. You can go where you want. Don't tell the miracles, come.