On Method -- Mary Margaret Sloan

In the place above mentioned matter of making
clear first meditations, a hill is the mark a wave possesses
just as a solution
to retreat. A hand needs a guide in ruling a line, cancelling
out. Left nothing right. Assume within

eye to eye contact there will be gradations of a sky
and a range in that universe of indefinite recursions
within within, withal. Dark, light, there, here,
hold on. As we circle our question, trying to make
straight for its heart, orders of prediction dissolve in the ratio
of our advances. Where are we now?

Where was I? Falling into paralogical
esthesia; the great instrument by which
certainty has been given to precedents is a volley of pleas.