I thought I saw it, there in the movie Woodstock: Heaven and Hell. How I thought that I saw things, mystical things, secrets. In the movie there is a split screen in one of the scenes: the concert on the left, the jungles of Vietnam on the right: that was it, the above and the below, visually upon which to feed, sprinkled with my own meanings. Why did I think myself such a prophet that I needed to heed only the visions, not holding to anything that might have been above me? I never wrote anything down that was to pass, however, and this is the only criterion of a seer. What made me think these visions of mine of such import when I would sacrifice nothing for them? That their meanings, a pattern made of dust, were so easily blown into the winds....
