There’s a morning when presence comes over your soul. You sing like a rooster in your earth-colored shape. Your heart hears and, no longer frantic, begins to dance.

I can sense your presence in my Heart although you belong to all the world.

The ground submits to the sky and suffers whatever comes. Tell me, is the Earth worse for giving in like that?

There is a basket of fresh bread on your head, yet you go door to door asking for crusts.

Your name is upon my tongue your image is in my sight your memory is in my heart where can I send these words that I write ?

You are not your body; you are the eye. When you see the spirit, you are free of the body. A human being is an eye – the rest is just flesh and bones. Whatever your eye sees, you are that.

In Silence there is eloquence. Stop weaving and see how the pattern improves.