And this, you suppose, is the Place where you live, but still you must
      strive to tell and be told about it.
For itself, it is complete: there are peaces, and things to
      fight against, and plenty—
Images waft on air, capable of being lodged in able and
      receptive flesh
Images both Built and Happened.

The dynamic range here is great, you must agree—for instance,
      the difference in loudness between the stuffs of Light,
            and Stone.
And your words for Being are: wasteland, mortal coil, womanhood,
      and talking-man. Say anything if it makes you feel better
No part of the Whole is going to be freed of its lust
To know the Rest.

And since you must tell and be told, there are words, and words for the images
Of both Built
      and Happened.
Think anything you like, but do not let it destroy your Life.
Be sure to set beating more receptive flesh
To see,
      be seen,
            be acted upon and within
And call it your child. You have no idea of the importance of this.

Here is a Place you live to be told about.
And even never knowing Here, you lust
      to have known the Rest.
Only a master dares wish to have known, and you
      are no master
To have to be told, to so need to search,
Or to have to suppose

A Master, you must agree, would never tell, and would always have Known.