If Only I May Grow: Firmer, Simpler,

The Truth Is So Simple That It Is Regarded As A Pretentious Banality.

Forgiving Is Forgetting, In Spite Of Remembering.

To Preserve The Silence Within--amid All The Noise. To Remain Open And Quiet, A Moist Humus In The Fertile Darkness Where The Rain Falls And The Grain Ripens--no Matter How Many Tramp Across The Parade Ground In Whirling Dust Under An Arid Sky.

At Every Moment You Choose Yourself. But Do You Choose *your* Self? Body And Soul Contain A Thousand Possibilities Out Of Which You Can Build Many I's. But In One Of Them Is There A Congruence Of The Elector And The Elected. Only One--which You Will Never Find Until You Have Excluded All Those Superficial And Fleeting Possibilities Of Being And Doing With Which You Toy, Out Of Curiosity Or Wonder Or Greed, And Which Hinder You From Casting Anchor In The Experience Of The Mystery Of Life, And The Consciousness Of The Talent Entrusted To You Which Is Your *i*.

In A Dream I Walked With God Through The Deep Places Of Creation; Past Walls That Receded And Gates That Opened Through Hall After Hall Of Silence, Darkness And Refreshment--the Dwelling Place Of Souls Acquainted With Light And Warmth--until, Around Me, Was An Infinity Into Which We All Flowed Together And Lived Anew, Like The Rings Made By Raindrops Falling Upon Wide Expanses Of Calm Dark Waters.