When we do that which is authentic, thanks feel wrongly directed. Because it wasn’t ‘me’ that rescued the fallen child, or discovered the cure to the disease. It was Being. If I was just being as beings naturally are, I am not the overlay. I am not Darin. And when I have penned a fine poem or been blessed with some communicable insight, it is certain specific elements of the overlay-Darin that, by ‘having gone missing’, produce the beautiful result. Wherever excellence arose, is »where I went away (in a peculiar mode), and since I know that the excellence was the »result of a lot of different goings away (of the overlay of Darin as a separate actor), and that the ‘product’ (the song, the rescue, the success, the writing)… is the product of a love affair between me and Being. So when someone thanks ‘me’, that is ‘Darin’, it seems both embarrassing and somehow as if ‘But you are not thanking most of the Origin of what you cherish’, as if, I should redirect this thanks to … well, damn near every creature that ever lived on Earth. And maybe elsewhere. Not to mention the Origin. But inside me it is a little different. As if there is a pool where the Muses sing. And they allow me near. How am I to be thanked for the results of mere translation?