But oh, what torture it is, this entrapment. To not be able to speak, to lay out in words and pictures and the pure ethereal power of ideas this world that lies unfolding in my mind! I can only tell you a bit, show you a fragment, dilute the idea through what I call “skill” until it is barely what it was to make you understand. Why can't you see into my mind, to see it as I do? Can't you see it unfolding before you? Let it take you, as it takes me, be with it, be in it, let it become a part of you. Can't you see it coming together before your eyes? Let it be in you as it is in me. I want to show you. Come, come see. But this skill of mine is too small, these hands too feeble and this mouth too slow to tell, to show, to make you see it.
But oh, what torture this is.
wrote this the other day out of frustration at my inability to express my ideas.