The Truly Just Is He Who Feels

The Mute Grain Turns To Love Songs When Swallowed By The Nightingale.

For What Is It To Die But To Stand Naked In The Wind And To Melt Into The Sun? And What Is It To Cease Breathing But To Free The Breath From Its Restless Tides, That It May Rise And Expand And Seek God Unencumbered? Only When You Drink From The River Of Silence Shall You Indeed Sing. And When You Have Reached The Mountaintop,then You Shall Begin To Climb. And When The Earth Shal Claim Your Limbs,then Shall You Truly Dance.

Which Of You Would Be Silent - When All Else Sings Together In Unison?

Among The Hills, When You Sit In The Cool Shade Of The White Poplars, Sharing The Peace And Serenity Of Distant Fields And Meadows - Then Let Your Heart Say In Silence, "god Rests In Reason." And When The Storm Comes, And The Mighty Wind Shakes The Forest, And Thunder And Lightning Proclaim The Majesty Of The Sky, - Then Let Your Heart Say In Awe, "god Moves In Passion.

And If There Come The Singers, And The Dancers And The Flute Players - Buy Of Their Gifts Also. For They Too Are Gatherers Of Fruit And Frankincense, And That Which They Bring, Though Fashioned Of Dreams, Is Raiment And Fod For Your Soul.