Why, when God's world is so big, did you fall asleep in a prison, of all places?
Be occupied, then, with what you really value and let the thief take something else.
Do you think I know what I'm doing? That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself? As much as a pen knows what it's writing, or the ball can guess where it's going next.
Come to the Root of the Root of your Self
Ground yourself, strip yourself down, To blind loving Silence
Without love, all worship is a burden, all dancing is a chore, all music is mere noise.