Tell me something. I am curious. When did you first . . . ?

Up on a mountain. Or in a cave. Something got caught in my throat. Or was it my chest grew tight? I remember all I could hear, across the whole of the plain, from all around, was the sound of conch shells.

But how did you come to . . . ?

Or was it under that tree, when it first struck me – so clear, so obvious?

But how was it that you happened to . . . ?

I remember now. It was on the road to Damascus. For three days I saw nothing, and of a sudden she was standing there. And I fell to the earth.

And she lifted up the front of her skirt.

(hey Paul, hey Paul, hey Paul)

And I trembled, and astonished said, ‘what will you have me do.’

And it was as though scales fell from my eyes.