Long talk and smoke with Marcus tonight, in his pleasant tree-house Well, not that long, but deep. It is as if the scales have fallen from his eyes since I told him the secret of women: They don't understand us, because they attribute their own motives to us, because they disbelieve us when we tell them where we're at--whatever it is, that can't be what we mean That's the Big Mystery. And while we talked, and in the long moments when we didn't talk, we heard a late-Beethoven cello/piano sonata, new to me, of surpassing, spiritual beauty, on college F.M. radio. Funny how the Sacred Ganj finds Itself fit Music to fly on.