Inside the great Roman Church the tourists found themselves in the semi-darkness. Vaults beyond vaults Flickering candles. There, the voice of a faceless angel caught me - filled me vhispering into my very body: "Do not feel ashamed human, be proud! Inside you, vaults are opening and new vaults beyond these - forever. Never will it stop. Never shall it stop." Blinded by tears I stumbeled out on the sunny piazza together with with Mr and Mrs Jones, Master Tanaka and Signora Sabatini and inside all of them vaults beyond vaults were opening - forever.

Tired of all who come with words, words but no language I went to the snow-covered island. The wild does not have words. The unwritten pages spread themselves out in all directions! I come across the marks of roe-deer’s hooves in the snow.

Language but no words.

The man who lies on his back under huge trees is also up in them. He branches out into thousands of tiny branches. He sways back and forth, he sits in a catapult chair that hurtles forward in slow motion.

The man who stands down at the dock screws up his eyes against the water. Docks get older faster than men. They have silver-gray posts and boulders in their gut. The dazzling light drives straight in.

The man who spends the whole day in an open boat moving over the luminous bays will fall asleep at last inside the shade of his blue lamp as the islands crawl like huge moths over the globe.