At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Niether from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is...
Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance.
(T. S. Eliot, Burnt Norton.)
How can a mortal know
how far is wide, how deep is high?
For now I only know
its faculty for holding,
- surely, entirely and together-
the essence and the whole of you and I