We felt things. That was undeniable. We set out our coracles on great currents of feeling. We were felt, we were sure of that. Pathos opened its door to admit us. But did we think, too? Did thought take flight in us as feeling did? There are questions we can never answer, says W. It's for others to judge, he says.
What did they see as our eyes rolled upward? What, as we spoke in tongues and rolled on the floor? They must have thought we were on fire, though they couldn't see the flames, says W. That we were on fire from thought: did they think that? That thought itself set them aflame, like Olympic torches?
What impression did we leave, as we left the room? Was the light still dying in their eyes? Had they seen too much? Had they heard much too much? Did an angel with a fiery sword stand between us?
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