Inexperience Loves To Preach.

A Slave's Soul Has No Worth, My Brothers; It Lacks Strength To Tread On This Great Earth With Gallantry And Freedom. I Pity The Poor Slaves, They're Nought But Airy Mist, A Light Breeze Scatters Them, A Fragrance Knocks Them Down; It's Only Just They Crawl On The Earth On Hands And Knees. Today I'll Write A Hymn To God And Pray For This Great Grace.

The Masses Do Not See The Sirens. They Do Not Hear Songs In The Air. Blind, Deaf, Stooping, They Pull At Their Oars In The Hold Of The Earth. But The More Select, The Captains, Harken To A Siren Within Them...and Royally Squander Their Lives With Her.

The Struggle Between God And Man Breaks Out In Everyone, Together With The Longing For Reconciliation. Most Often This Struggle Is Unconscious And Short-lived. A Weak Soul Does Not Have The Endurance To Resist The Flesh For Very Long. It Grows Heavy, Becomes Flesh Itself, And The Contest Ends. But Among Responsible Men, Men Who Keep Their Eyes Riveted Day And Night Upon The Supreme Duty, The Conflict Between Flesh And Spirit Breaks Out Mercilessly And May Last Until Death.

I Surrender Myself To Everything. I Love, I Feel Pain, I Struggle. The World Seems To Me Wider Than The Mind, My Heart A Dark And Almighty Mystery.

The Dual Substance Of Christ - The Yearning, So Human, So Superhuman, Of Man To Attain God. [...] Has Always Been A Deep Inscrutable Mystery To Me. [...] My Principle Anguish And Source Of All My Joys And Sorrows From My Youth Onward Has Been The Incessant, Merciless Battle Between The Spirit And The Flesh. [...] And My Soul Is The Arena Where These Two Armies Have Clashed And Met.