The garden is growth and change and that means loss as well as constant new treasures to make up for a few disasters.

I am furious at all the letters to answer, when all I want to do is think and write poems. ... I long for open time, with no obligations except toward the inner world and what is going on there.

For after all we make our faces as we go along.

Without darkness, nothing comes to birth, As without light, nothing flowers.

I am not a greedy person except about flowers and plants, and then I become fanatically greedy.

There the door is always open into the “holy” — growth, birth, death.

The ambience here is order and beauty. That is what frightens me when I am first alone again. I feel inadequate. I have made an open place, a place for meditation. What if I cannot find myself inside it?