Then came the spirit when longing rose; but this time, where so often came and began the restless, there was a lacking—an absence where, in all of life, there lived a feel. He didn’t know what to make of the way—if for better, worse, or simply dying away of a desire, or affecting of its feel.
He didn’t know, but he wished the restless—strong-heart swell and whole body-live of desire ready—or, at least, lamented it was not.
He tried to read.
He couldn’t focused.
Writing—mind and outcome was the same.
So he stayed in thought that didn’t feel and wondered why the way.