Just As The Heart Becomes Carefree In

The Ground's Generosity Takes In Our Compost And Grows Beauty! Try To Be More Like The Ground.

A White Flower Grows In The Quietness. Let Your Tongue Become That Flower.

I, You, He, She, We In The Garden Of Mystic Lovers, These Are Not True Distinctions.

Every Fragile Beauty, Every Perfect Forgotten Sentence, You Grieve Their Going Away, But That Is Not How It Is. Where They Come From Never Goes Dry. It Is An Always Flowing Spring.

Those Doing Soul Work, Who Want The Searing Truth More Than Solace Or Applause, Know Each Other Right Away. Those Who Want Something Else Turn And Take A Seat In Another Room. Soul-makers Find Each Other’s Company.