He was becoming unstuck, he was sure of that - his bones were no longer wrapped in flesh but in clouds of dust, in hummingbirds, dragonflies, and luminous moths - but so perfect was his equilibrium that he felt no fear. He was vast, he was many, he was dynamic, he was eternal.

Deserving only..!
Don't make your soul transparent to everyone...!

More are men's ends marked than their lives before. The setting sun, the music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past.

In 1054, the patriarch of Constantinople and the pope excommunicated each other.  That was the end of holiness for both churches.

Written By Frank Herbert

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