I can’t imagine where it comes from, but surely there must be a source for this all, somewhere. True, streams can be seen sometimes, using a dowsing-rod, or even if you simply look carefully under rocks with a flashlight at midnight; but this source isn’t so easy to find. In fact, the harder you look, the more it disappears; and all you can think about is that since it doesn’t seem to be prevalent anywhere near the surface, perhaps it’s sompleace else, perhaps it’s down at the cneter of the earth somewhere—who knows? It’s not an easy thing to grasp, perhaps it’s better to skip the entire subject. Why am I bothering to write all this down, anyway? Here I am with with a poetry almost empty of encouraging imagery. On the other hand, nothing you can do can change what you know.
From “The Search for the Source” from Time is a Toy