Pilgrimage To The Place Of The Wise

If All You Can Do Is Crawl, Start Crawling.

Sorrows Are The Rags Of Old Clothes And Jackets That Serve To Cover, And Then Are Taken Off. That Undressing, And The Beautiful Naked Body Underneath, Is The Sweetness That Comes After Grief.

Since I Was Cut From The Reedbed I Have Made This Crying Sound. Anyone Separated From Someone He Loves Understands What I Say. Anyone Pulled From A Source Longs To Go Back.

This Place Is A Dream. Only A Sleeper Considers It Real. Then Death Comes Like Dawn, And You Wake Up Laughing At What You Thought Was Your Grief.

Doing As Others Told Me, I Was Blind. Coming When Others Called Me, I Was Lost. Then I Left Everyone, Myself As Well. Then I Found Everyone, Myself As Well.