Our dreams do not come true, as such, in the way I might have wished for. And yet it is by such weaving and re-working that our most wishful hopes may begin to acquire flesh and bone.

Something strikes you about an image. And then you must be faithful to it. A leap of faith. Belief grows. The power of the image augments. For the image to be true, you must be true.

A true image does not organize facts, like concepts do. It is like a portal to intuition, to the underworld, to the ineffable.

How do you choose an image? Of old age? Of death? Here, logic cannot answer. But these images are very much within our range of choice, to uplift us, or to consume us.

And faith shouldn’t be thought of as having correct ideas, agreeing with the static doctrine of a church authority — who can fail to doubt? But rather as a dynamic movement of intuition, image, action and fidelity to what cannot be pictured in a material way.