0004 M I N D

and mind might ask, why then are brain cells gray? Is it because the world is just so wonderful, that they, stunned and amazed, cannot decide which colour to praise first? (Mix all the colours of the paints, and the result is gray.) or is it because they feel themselves so dull in comparison with the miracle which is creation, the miracle they (miracles themselves) , faithful, serve? (Mix all the colours of the spectrum, and the result is white.) or is it, because they know their work lies between ultimates such as (do they themselves call them this?) black, and white? do they know their work is equity – to balance all things, so that gray is not gray as we use gray for worldly metaphor; but the gray of lakes at peace; of silver that lives in itself, needing no sun but its own innerness; mercury that is moved but longs to be united in a perfect sphere; gray of clouds that know the blessings that they hold; and, the shining gray of mind - for which gray hair is living metaphor, the wisdom which life holds in store for you - as how many poets, this moment round the world, are joining new electric paths of thought between these tiny, great gray worm-like cells which hide, compact, their vast and inner space which spins out eager words of metaphor, for that so nameless, boundless, dazzling spectrum, the radiant space of self?