Es ist ein grosse Versuchung, den Geist explicit machen zu wollen, but I would not put it quite like Wittgenstein: rather that it is a grave temptation to take too many auspices, for the mistake, I fear, is not in the desire to have invisible things come true but in the failure to make them come true even though there is far too little evidence to support their existence.

For there is little other way to explain how such a monstrous and consuming thing as love can be killed both by neglect and by overfeeding, by looking it too closely in the eyes (shades of L’Histoire du Soldat, Orpheus, etc) or by walking so long that one ceases to remember why the trip to the underworld, what the tinnibulant voice of Hades said

And the underworld, confreres, is a vast, vast place…

imagination? illusion? misconception?