And I often imagine what if my mother had not taken me back that evening, well, of almost thirty years ago; I might have found the elf then by the singular virtue and desire which are given only to a boy.
The heart of Wisdom is a sorrow and pain. It is a mistake if you think it to be a scalp-capped old scholar just stepped out from the library or classroom. Wisdom is a reformed criminal after all penalties paid; it is a wrong or confession turned to a saint.
It is not true to say that we have become impatient because we are wiser than our forefathers, But I know I believe that the realisation of Life’ endless change and the possibility of a never-ending rebirth, even in the Buddhistic sense, makes me a wind (what an impatience of the wind’s soul) crying in the wilderness.
The ancient Japanese always held the same attitude towards the world and life, whether with the frost-cold sword at the moment of harakiri, or with the tea-bowl in the chanc-
