Hints, Allegations, and Things Left Unsaid

Some people feel that abstraction is undesirable. The world requires hard, proper, concrete stuff, and has little time for the person who thrives on the unknown and the unsaid. In this world of 'rapine, avarice and expense', as Wordsworth put it (and he lived more than a hundred years before us), the tenuous, inchoate clouds of thought and feeling are rarely welcome. Often in a half-formed state, they are rent, ripped or brought to earth by rampaging hordes of base materialists, hell-bent on pursuing arbitrary motives, which are ironically often not very clear to themselves. The thousand deafening echoes of a single cry of supposed certainty, more often than not drown out the inaudible sighs and whispers of more ephemeral feelings.

Dreamers, I sometimes feel, more often now than at any time in the past, are scarce, and will continue to be so.