THERE ARE DAYS WHEN

everything I see seems to me charged with meaning: messages it would be difficult for me to communicate to others, define, translate into words, but which for this very reason appear to me decisive. They are announcements or presages that concern me and the world at once: for my part, not only the external events of my existence but also what happens inside, in the depths of me; and for the world, not some particular event but the general way of being all things. You will understand therefore my difficulty in speaking about it, except by a_ll_us_io_n.

Italo Calvino, from If On A Winter’s Night A Traveler