
My sister Carol calls me around
nine-thirty on a Wednesday morning. As always, her voice is cheerful and upbeat.
In the background I hear the usual, accompanying sounds to her phone calls—the
canned echo, the rush of cars...
"As soon as we express something, we devalue it strangely. We believe ourselves to have dived down into the depths of the abyss, and when we once again reach the surface, the drops of water on our pale fingertips no longer resemble the ocean from which they came...Nevertheless, the treasure shimmers in the darkness unchanged." ---Franz Kafka