The final part of TS Eliot’s Four Quartets, which brings us through the pain of death to the place where “all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well… when the fire and the rose are one”.

It seems to me that all is already well. It is our ego which traps and deceives us into loneliness. When that is done with, then so is our separation from all-that-is and each other.

This I believe, having experienced this in flashes. If we set aside our cynicism, have we not all? In the moments when boundary disappears between our trapped self and nature, God and each other. The french call this “le petit mort”, for instance…