One evening when I was about fourteen years old, I stood on the roof of a squalid Bronx tenement watching the stars, without apparent shift, pause, or shock. As if by a process of quick un-abrupt dissolution, the stars, the tenement, the noisy streets below, the lights, the roar and clatter of passing L trains, became a part of me and I of them. I was all that is or ever could be. Yet at the same time, I was not one with everything. I was different, unrelated, an incomplete, bitter, frustrated, envious being, hungry for things beyond my power, tortured with dreams beyond my capacity.