Between what contact did to you and how tired you got, between the farout things you saw or heard and what you personally lost out of all that got blown away, the war made a place for you that was all yours. Finding it was like listening to esoteric music, you didn’t hear it in any essential way through all the repetitions until your own breath had entered it and become another instrument, and by then it wasn’t just music any more, it was experience.
