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It would be more perfect if my hands knew how to work. Hands that do something useful delve into the depths of being and from there extract a source of goodness and peace. My stepfather (whom I will call my father here, since he raised me) was a tailor. He had a deep soul, a true messenger spirit. Sometimes he said, smiling, that the clerics' betrayal began on the day when one of them represented an angel with wings: it is with your hands that you ascend to heaven.