Miss Treasure, those words, the first in English the second Hungarian are pieced together in her email address, has photographs of herself posted on facebook. One of them in particular I find hard to look at. I don't understand it. I know her because she found me, not I her, so I can't say I chose to know her because she is a type I have come to know, because she reminds of an experience I long to revisit. And she says she's never met anyone like me.
We met on what I described to her as the worst day in my life. My last resorts were failing, my chances for safety were vanishing. I had been walking all day when the community center receptionist told me a Kabbalist meeting was in progress. I stepped inside, went up the stairs. The adherents listened patiently to me, one said it was an honor to meet me on this day of all days in my life, another with good will drew me out on the relation between Plato and Kabbalah. Two days later all had turned back around. But on that evening, a young women, a very beautiful young woman, hearing my story said meet her at ten when she gets off work.
