We are pain and what cures pain, both. We are the sweet cold water and the jar that pours. I want to hold you close like a lute, so that we can cry out with loving. Would you rather throw stones at a mirror? I am your mirror and here are the stones.
Your grief for what you've lost lifts a mirror up to where you're bravely working.
Your depression is connected to your insolence and refusal to praise.
People of the world don't look at themselves, and so they blame one another.
Love itself describes its own perfection. Be speechless and listen.
This outward spring and garden are a reflection of the inward garden.