If the house of the world is dark, Love will find a way to create windows.
Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom. How do they learn it? They fall and falling, they're given wings.
Play the flute of felicity! You, yourself, are the melody.
In the house of lovers, the music never stops, the walls are made of songs & the floor dances
You knock at the door of Reality. You shake your thought wings, loosen your shoulders, and open.
Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes. If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralyzed.