The crescendo, cacophony, a boorish wave strikes my drums The hammer smites my nerves, sensation places his shackles around my wrists, declares himself my master Let him have it, I say, that destitute shell; for after a tierce, I am away Journeying inward devoid of perception, Philo grasps my trembling hand, leading me to the court of Justicia, the hall of Sophia I study under their gaze, this inpenetrable fortress, this fraudulent solitude