When love first tasted the lips of being human, it started singing.
No one looks back and regrets leaving this world. What's regretted is how real we thought it was.
How will you know the difficulties of being human, if you are always flying off to blue perfection? Where will you plant your grief seeds? Workers need ground to scrape and hoe, not the sky of unspecified desire.
As you start to walk on the way, the way appears.
The radiant one in me has never said a word.
Ground yourself, strip yourself down, To blind loving Silence