So what if my yearbooks are shrinking, my vital energy is withering, and my vision is paling? So what if I cannot suppress an occasional cry of anxiety upon observing my immortal soul caving in and collapsing under the relentless march of quotidian duties, petty victories, and debilitating satisfactions? So what if everything is again in question, and if there is no available means of egress from this barren hilltop among hilltops? Like a cornered rat, like a wounded tiger, like a demented she-goat whose kids are in peril, I will spring back that much more vigorous and determined, I will desperately grasp for the least opportunity, I will rekindle every hope I have ever held so much more fervently… And I will rejoice in the animal spirits once again.

Addendum I (January 1, 1988)

Although I appreciate the boisterous mood of this note, I cannot but be appalled and distressed by the gradual collapse of the entire project. And collapse it is. Last year my production has reached an unprecedented low. Ever since 1976 I have not contributed less to my Residua, both in terms of the number of notes and the number of pages. How far can this decline go before I am forced to declare defeat? Could such a thing ever come to pass?

Addendum II (May 1, 1995)

Judging from my life’s fumbling record, which is preserved in these pages, MIT was bad for my soul. The period between 1983, when I joined the Institute, and 1989, when I decided to leave it, marks a definite trough in my progress. Not only had my writing suffered quantitatively, which might have been a blessing in disguise, but also qualitatively. The two are perhaps related: the less time I could dedicate to writing, the more disjointed and lifeless my writings became. Looking back, I cannot suppress a self-satisfied smirk on account of my decision to leave MIT for good—one of the most felicitous decisions of my life.

Addendum III (December 12, 2002)

So many years later, I am of two minds when it comes to MIT. On the one hand, I still feel that my assessment from 1995 is correct. There is no doubt that my inner life had suffered between 1983 and 1989. My book is my witness. On the other hand, I still feel a strong emotional attachment to the Institute. More, my feelings are bordering on love. No other place where I have studied or worked even approaches this sentiment. The two hands cannot be reconciled, of course. Which is perhaps why I am content to love MIT from a safe distance. And the distance is safe, indeed.

Addendum IV (December 16, 2015)

Returning to this piece once again, I read it from an entirely different vantage point than in so many intervening years. Starting with the title, which strikes me as outright prophetic, I focus on the animals in the story: a cornered rat, a wounded tiger, and a demented she-goat whose kids are in peril. Finding myself on yet another barren hilltop among hilltops, this time perfectly real rather than academic and thus figurative, I will spring back that much more vigorous and determined by becoming one with these animals in peril. Once again, I will rejoice in the animal spirits, but this time from within. This is the promise of yoga, whose roots go all the way to shamanism. As well as the animal in us, as this piece points out, albeit unwittingly. Amazingly, I was on the right trail no less than thirty years ago!