Sambatyon And ink is the name of your spirit             – Abulafia Even as the flux swelled and rushed headlong he stared hard at the furious script of foam, and could have sworn someone had tripped and scattered the alphabet into the strong brew of gravel and sand that left him short of breath, and threw him for a loop, as he bared his heart to the white waters that flared and ripped a window to the mind’s retort. Now he could move on into the open field, heaven knows how a free fall of words rained from the skies, or was it a roll- call of molten sounds that rose unchosen from his lips – truly a language…