The miracle of Jesus is himself, not what he said or did about the future. Forget the future. I'd worship someone who could do that.

Stop searching here and there, the jewels are inside YOU.

My heart rushes into the garden, joyfully tasting all the delights. But reason frowns, disapproving of the heart's bad manners.

There is an unseen sweetness in the stomach’s emptiness. We are lutes. When the sound box is filled, no music can come forth. When the brain and the belly burn from fasting, every moment a new song rises out of the fire. The mists clear, and a new vitality makes you spring up the steps before you . . .

This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.

Snake's poison is life to the snake; it is in relation to man that it means "death.

Love rushed into my veins emptying me of myself. Now filled with the Beloved my only possession is my name.