itude, our profound
fullness of being, in the ocean of our oneness and our consciousness.

This is under the spell of the moon, of sea-born Aphrodite, mother and
bitter goddess. For I am carried away from my sunny day-self into
this other tremendous self, where knowledge will not save me, but
where I must obey as the sea obeys the tides. Yet however much I go, I
know that I am all the while myself, in my going.

This then is the duality of my day and my night being: a duality so
bitter to an adolescent. For the adolescent thinks with shame and
terror of his night. He would wish to have no night-self. But it is
Moloch, and he cannot escape it.

The tree is born of its roots and its leaves. And we of our days and
our nights. Without the night-consummation we are trees without roots.

And the night-consummation takes place under the spell of the moon. It
is one pure motion of meeting and oneing. But even so, it is a
circuit, not a straight line. One pure motion of meeting and oneing,
until the flash breaks forth, when the two are one. And this, this
flashing moment of the ignition of two seas of blood, this is the
moment of begetting. But the begetting of a child is less than the
begetting of the man and the woman. Woman is begotten of man at that
moment, into her greater self: and man is begotten of woman. This is
the main. And that which cannot be fulfilled, perfected in the two
individuals, that which cannot take fire into individual life, this
trickles down and is the seed of a new life, destined ultimately to
fulfill that which the parents could not fulfill. So it is for ever.

Sex then is a polarization of the individual blood in man towards the
individual blood in woman. It is more, also. But in its prime
functional reality it is this. And sex union means bringing into
connection the dynamic poles of sex in man and woman.

In sex we have our basic, most elemental being. Here we have our most
elemental contact. It is from the hypogastric plexus and the sacral
ganglion that the dark forces of manhood and womanhood sparkle. From
the dark plexus of sympathy run out the acute, intense sympathetic
vibrations direct to the corresponding pole. Or so it should be, in
genuine passionate love. There is no mental interference. There is
even no interference of the upper centers. Love is supposed to be
blind. Though modern love wears strong spectacles.

But love is really blind. Without sight or scent or hearing the
power