"Death has no meaning. All is change, vibration, creation and re-creation. The song of the world, registered in every particle of that specious substance called matter, issues forth in an inequable harmony which filters through the angelic being lying dormant in the shell of the physical creature called man. Once the angel assumes dominion, the physical being flowers. Throughout all realms a quiet, persistent blossoming takes place."- Henry Miller, The Rosy Crucifixion, Plexus
...And it only gets better from there and before there
This is from page 317 in my copy, not even halfway through. Henry Miller is slowly becoming my favorite author, though this is only the third book of his I have read. For all his reputation as a drinking, sex obsessed, filthy mouthed man; I find none of this relevant or even all that apparent in his writing as a whole. He is both in awe of the Universe and the beings who dwell in it and in complete disgust of it at times. I feel the same sentiment. A lonely, quiet observer who connects with his reader to connect with himself to connect with everything. Or nothing? Special inspiration for me at the moment.
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