The story of the black hermit.
His religion was being. In his head he was alone, but not lonely.
His horizon was broader than the world, his worries smaller than an ant.
He hated immortality and those who could make contact with him felt his Chi.
The silence gave him his creativity.
There was the thought and the dancer.
The Female Brush as a sign of the new age. Nothing will be like it has been.
The woman as the new power.
He retired from the speed of life.