Infinite Mercy Flows Continually But You're Asleep

Sadness To Me Is The Happiest Time, When A Shining City Rises From The Ruins Of My Drunken Mind. Those Times When I'm Silent And Still As The Earth, The Thunder Of My Roar Is Heard Across The Universe.

Sorrow Prepares You For Joy. It Violently Sweeps Everything Out Of Your House, So That New Joy Can Find Space To Enter. It Shakes The Yellow Leaves From The Bough Of Your Heart, So That Fresh, Green Leaves Can Grow In Their Place. It Pulls Up The Rotten Roots, So That New Roots Hidden Beneath Have Room To Grow. Whatever Sorrow Shakes From Your Heart, Far Better Things Will Take Their Place.

Inside The Great Mystery That Is, We Don't Really Own Anything. What Is This Competition We Feel Then, Before We Go, One At A Time, Through The Same Gate?

Whatever Posessions And Objects Of Its Desires The Lower Self May Obtain, It Hangs On To Them, Refusing To Let Them Go Out Of Greed For More, Or Out Of Fear Of Poverty And Need.

Your Hand Opens And Closes And Opens And Closes. If It Were Always A Fist Or Always Stretched Open, You Would Be Paralyzed.