n the intensity of that terrible moment of rejection, Nature showed me how to sniff out an authentic member of the genus Homo novus. These flowers in humanity’s manure field would possess the silence of Nature and an equanimity in the face of Nature’s two polar complementaries — destruction and creation. I would instinctively recognize these members of the new human race by their laughter and celebration uncaused, by the gleam of a second and consciously recognized childhood sparking in their eyes. I would know them if their silent gaze and presence were not disturbed by fame or infamy, riches or poverty, life or death. They would remain inwardly blissful, unaffected by life’s vagaries or any attempts by those outside of their silence to abuse and disturb them. The Homo novus would be happy in a palace or in the dirtiest holding cell. And if sadness on rare occasions came to their doors, they would watch it rather than indulge it, until sadness moved on.