much later , in london , in another language , he would look back on this day in the old attic , and write : dust and sun rays talk to me in sheets of light that flutter silently still too young to understand this simple dreamer gently gathers them in his hand my tenderly real gift of the sun dances to heal hearts that crumble lives that stumble startled by his very heart they smile but always depart : a possessed human being is nothing but bones , flesh , heart , and skin operated by the devil , although it does not have to be the devil .