you. I won’t dare to speak your name here, though I don’t know which is holy and which profane – your name, or this place. or perhaps both are too holy to coincide – as if the HOLY OF HOLIES and the ARK OF THE COVENANT were reunited, and the universe imploded with longing at the force of their intercourse. where does this suspicion arise? perhaps from the notion that G-d has displaced G-dself to make room for our existence? and what is this place – no, not this burrow. not at all. the someplace deeper than the burrow, beyond the idle reveries before sleep. somewhere deep in the dreams, never to be held without the risk of permanent loss. can you handle the truth of this place? can you negotiate these lying words and still find peace at my side? and can what is dearest to me in myself touch you, the dearest to me that is not myself, and still be?