This is not a day for asking questions, not a day on any calendar. This day is conscious of itself. This day is a lover, bread, and gentleness, more manifest than saying can say.

We can't help being thirsty, moving toward the voice of water.

Love is language that cannot be said, or heard.

I feel like the earth, astonished at fragrance borne in the air, made pregnant with mystery from a drop of rain.

Suffering is a gift; in its hidden mercy

If the house of the world is dark, Love will find a way to create windows.

Any wine will get you high. Judge like a king, and choose the purest, the ones unadulterated with fear, or some urgency about "what's needed."