We can know a lot. And still, no doubt, there are rash and wonderful ideas brewing somewhere; there are many surprises yet to come.

So every day So every day I was surrounded by the beautiful crying forth of the ideas of God, one of which was you.

The poem in which the reader does not feel himself or herself a participant is a lecture, listened to from an uncomfortable chair, in a stuffy room, inside a building.

And now you'll be telling stories of my coming back and they won't be false, and they won't be true but they'll be real

Love yourself. Then forget it. Then, love the world.

And now I understand something so frightening &wonderful- how the mind clings to the road it knows, rushing through crossroads, sticking like lint to the familiar.

And it can keep you as busy as anything else, and happier.