A little ironic isn’t it? – that during the retreat I wrote about being vexed by the indiffusible somberness in the air and the conspicuous presentation of inner troubles; while here, I am always writing about displeasurable things, or even if it were something else, something brighter, the words would still contain an inescapable hint of melancholy. It is as dark here as it is there, and I should have no reason to despise this darkness common to both rooms. But I am. And I suppose this may be the consequence of our – that is, between myself and the people in that other room – having different ways of expelling those unfriendly, noxious feelings. While I expel them through words, little by little, they expel them all at a go in a culmination of fervor.