Water the fruit trees and don’t water the thorns.
I, you, he, she, we In the garden of mystic lovers, these are not true distinctions.
This discipline and rough treatment are a furnace to extract the silver from the dross. This testing purifies the gold by boiling the scum away.
Love is the water of life, jump into this water.
Wherever you stand, be the soul of that place.
Since Love has made ruins of my heart The sun must come and illumine them. Such generosity has broken me with shame.