I am a hole in a flute that the Christ's breath moves through. Listen to this music.
Think of suffering as being washed.
The Truth has shared so much of Itself with me That I can no longer call myself A man, a woman, an angel, Or even pure Soul.
'Tis writ on Paradise's gate, Woe to the dupe that yields to fate!
Remember for just one minute of the day, it would be best to try looking upon yourself more as God does, for She knows your true royal nature.
The small man builds cages for everyone he knows While the sage, who has to duck his head when the moon is low, Keeps dropping keys all night long For the beautiful rowdy prisoners.