Soul, A Moving River. Body, The Riverbed.

Water The Fruit Trees And Don’t Water The Thorns.

I Used To Read The Myths Of Love Now I Have Become The Mythical Lover

Limp Along Until Your Legs Are Spent, And You Fall Flat And Your Energy Is Drained. Then The Grace Of The Divine Will Lift You.

Sorrow Prepares You For Joy. It Violently Sweeps Everything Out Of Your House, So That New Joy Can Find Space To Enter. It Shakes The Yellow Leaves From The Bough Of Your Heart, So That Fresh, Green Leaves Can Grow In Their Place. It Pulls Up The Rotten Roots, So That New Roots Hidden Beneath Have Room To Grow. Whatever Sorrow Shakes From Your Heart, Far Better Things Will Take Their Place.

If You Were A Blade Of Grass Or A Tiny Flower I Will Pitch My Tent In Your Shadow. Only Your Presence Revives My Withered Heart. You Are The Candle That Lights The Whole World And I Am An Empty Vessel For Your Light.