There Is A Life-force Within Your Soul,

On The Path Of Love We Are Neither Masters Nor The Owners Of Our Lives. We Are Only A Brush In The Hand Of The Master Painter.

The Beginning Of Pride And Hatred Lies In Worldly Desire, And The Strength Of Your Desire If From Habit. When An Evil Tendency Becomes Confirmed By Habit, Rage Is Triggered When Anyone Restrains You.

When Lovers Of Life Get Ready To Dance, The Earth Shakes And The Sky Trembles.

When You Resolve To Become Pious, The Devil In Your Nature Cries Out At You, "tread Not Those Paths, O Confused One; Distress And Poverty Will Overcome You. You Will Be Despised, Let Down By Friends, You Will Regret It." Dread Of The Devil Has Bound Their Souls; The Cries Of The Devil Are The Drover Of The Damned; The Call Of The Lord Is A Guardian Of The Saints.

I Honor Those Who Try To Rid Themselves Of Any Lying, Who Empty The Self And Have Only Clear Being There.