Behind The Veil Of Each Night, There

If You Sing Of Beauty Though Alone In The Heart Of The Desert You Will Have An Audience.

Your Fear Of Death Is But The Trembling Of The Shepherd When He Stands Before The King Whose Hand Is To Be Laid Upon Him In Honour.

Your House Is Your Larger Body. It Grows In The Sun And Sleeps In The Stillness Of The Night; And It Is Not Dreamless. Does Not Your House Dream, And Dreaming, Leave The City For Grove Or Hilltop?

Faith Is An Oasis In The Heart Which Will Never Be Reached By The Caravan Of Thinking.

My Friend, I Am Not What I Seem. Seeming Is But A Garment I Wear — A Care-woven Garment That Protects Me From Thy Questionings And Thee From My Negligence. The "i" In Me, My Friend, Dwells In The House Of Silence, And Therein It Shall Remain For Ever More, Unperceived, Unapproachable.