I am a hole in a flute that the Christ's breath moves through. Listen to this music.

People say that the soul, on hearing the song of creation, entered the body, but in reality the soul itself was the song.

Run my dear, from anything that may not strengthen your precious budding wings. Run like hell my dear, from anyone likely to put a sharp knife into the sacred, tender vision of your beautiful heart.

All these words are just a front. What I would really like to do is chain you to my body, then sing for days & days & days.

One regret dear world, that I am determined not to have when I am lying on my deathbed is that I did not kiss you enough.

A poet is someone Who can pour Light into a spoon, Then raise it To nourish Your beautiful parched, holy mouth.

Only a Perfect One who is always laughing at the word two can make you know of Love.