When I was a child, I got painting before I got poetry, because the painting took me directly to the silence. By the time I was thirteen, the painting had taken me to the place of concentration and silence. And since my childhood was dominated by a compulsive monologue driven by shame and guilt, silence was the only refuge. I first found the silence in moments of nature – moments of nature that came to the eye. Somehow the visual perfection of the moment evoked the silence. And the desire for visual art began in the desire to replicate the silence by entering into the pure visual beauty of nature.
            But, having found the silence of concentration, the gates opened toward the concentrated moment of language – a language emerging from the silence itself. Out of this thread of language emerged all of the connective keys. Knowledge came forward and actualized itself through this thread of language emerging from silence. Even the philosophy is the handservant of this luminous thread, this aural light emerging from the pure darkness.