I remember the frustration of my college literature professor as she struggled to convey her adult angst to us. She had suffered, especially in the illness of her little boy, and we had not. One of the poems that she yearned for us to absorb was "Ash Wednesday" by T. S. Eliot. To her credit, I am still thinking about it. Here is a sample: "Because I know that time is always time and place is always and only place and what is actual is actual only for one time and only fo