The moment

It is curious when it comes the moment of detachment that always precedes the descent of the great gentleness you must sometime learn to inhabit, a moment weightless and without tendency, distilled as by a pure process of subtraction that preserves infallibly what you would cherish if you only knew, which is your passage into the clarity that enumerates beatitudes without proscription as the only final states of feeling, simple homes in which to dwell -=a passage always to the very next instant, a corridor that always returns.