Wherever You Stand, Be The Soul Of

The Fluteplayer Puts Breath Into A Flute, And Who Makes The Music? Not The Flute. The Fluteplayer!

If You Follow The Ways In Which You Were Trained, Which You May Have Inherited, For No Other Reason Than This, You Are Illogical.

In Truth Everything And Everyone Is A Shadow Of The Beloved, And Our Seeking Is His Seeking And Our Words Are His Words... We Search For Him Here And There, While Looking Right At Him. Sitting By His Side, We Ask: 'o Beloved, Where Is The Beloved?'

We Bury Our Seeds And Wait, Winter Blocks The Road, Flowers Are Taken Prisoner Underground, But Then Green Justice Tenders A Spear

The Breeze At Dawn Has Secrets To Tell You. Don't Go Back To Sleep.