Reality Is Blocked By Form And Image.

Friend, Our Closeness Is This: Anywhere You Put Your Foot, Feel Me In The Firmness Under You.

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?

You Had Better Run From Me. My Words Are Fire.

Your Way Begins At The Other Side. Become The Sky. Take An Axe To The Prison Wall. Escape. Walk Out Like Someone Suddenly Born Into Color. Do It Now.

There Is A Way Between Voice And Presence, Where Information Flows. In Disciplined Silence It Opens; With Wandering Talk It Closes.