Into Every Life A Little Rain Must

The Translucence That Comes When Life Hardens Into A Bead Of Such Cruel Perfection You See It With The Purest Clarity. Everything Suddenly There--life As It Truly Is, Enormous, Appalling, Devastating. You See The Great Sinkholes It Makes In People And The Harrowing Lengths To Which Love Will Go To Fill Them.

And I Was Struck All At Once How Life Was Out There Going Through Its Regular Courses, And I Was Suspended, Waiting, Caught In A Terrible Crevice Between Living My Life And Not Living It.

The True Self Is Not Our Creation, But God's. It Is The Self We Are In Our Depths. It Is Our Capacity For Divinity And Transcendence.

It Was The Oldest Sound There Was. Souls Flying Away.

Until We Look From The Bottom Up We Have Nothing.