Is Not The Beautiful Moon, That Inspires

The Sorrowful Spirit Finds Relaxation In Solitude. It Abhors People, As A Wounded Deer Deserts The Herd And Lives In A Cave Until It Is Healed Or Dead.

Verily All Things Move Within Your Being In Constant Half Embrace, The Desired And The Dreaded, The Repugnant And The Cherished, The Pursued And That Which You Would Escape.

If Your Knowledge Teaches You Not The Value Of Things, And Frees You Not From The Bondage To Matter, You Shall Never Come Near The Throne Of Truth.

If Indeed You Must Be Candid, Be Candid Beautifully.

We Who Love Him Beheld Him With These Our Eyes Which He Made To See; And We Touched Him With These Our Hands Which He Taught To Reach Forth.