He is a letter to everyone. You open it. It says, Live.
Only from the heart can you touch the sky.
Oh Soul! You worry too much. Your arms are heavy with treasures of all kinds.
How can I know anything about the past or the future, when the light of the Beloved shines only Now.
Play the flute of felicity! You, yourself, are the melody.
I died from a mineral and plant became, Died from the plant, took a sentient frame; Died from the beast, donned a human dress - When by my dying did I ever grow less.