The true mystic is a lion with the face of a kitten. Only his own kind know who he is. He speaks in the softest words -- so soft, their name is "silence" -- yet his tone resounds for days. He is a presence without presence: a stillness full of motion. While seated, he soars; over water, he strides. Like an invisible wind you never see him, though he works to great effect. Eating little, relishing everything; he never argues, but always wins. His life is a happy contradiction. The people think he is nothing -- a kind of innocent child -- to which he whole-heartedly agrees... For it is this very nothingness that makes him great.