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At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
From Burnt Norton, the first of the Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot
This year truly has been a dance of past and present for me.
San Francisco where "My week in San Francisco, from the evening of March 5 to the morning of March 13, was one of the most intense and beautiful ever for me."
Tim, Trevor, who died; Serge, who died.
Grandson, Oskar, Ariel
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