Actually, Your Soul And Mine Are The

Keep On Knocking 'til The Joy Inside Opens A Window Look To See Who's There

Maybe You Are Searching Among The Branches, For What Only Appears In The Roots.

The Ripe Fignow That You Live Here In My Chest,anywhere We Sit Is A Mountaintop.and Those Other Images,which Have Enchanted Peoplelike Porcelain Dolls From China,which Have Made Men And Women Weepfor Centuries, Even Those Have Changed Now.what Used To Be Pain Is A Lovely Benchwhere We Can Rest Under The Roses.a Left Hand Has Become A Right.a Dark Wall, A Window.a Cushion In A Shoe Heel,the Leader Of The Community!now Silence. What We Sayis Poison To Someand Nourishing To Others.what We Say Is A Ripe Fig,but Not Every Bird That Flieseats Figs.

Neither This Body Am I, Nor Soul, Nor These Fleeting Images Passing By, Nor Concepts And Thoughts, Mental Images, Nor Yet Sentiments And The Psyche's Labyrinth. Who Then Am I? A Consciousness Without Origin, Not Born In Time, Nor Begotten Here Below. I Am That Which Was, Is And Ever Shall Be, A Jewel In The Crown Of The Divine Self, A Star In The Firmament Of The Luminous One.

Open The Window Of Your Heart And Let The Spirit Speak