We are as the flute, and the music in us is from thee; we are as the mountain and the echo in us is from thee.
Keep silent, because the world of silence is a vast fullness
Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge of driftwood along the beach, wanting! They derive from a slow and powerful root that we can’t see. Stop the words now. Open the window in the center of your chest, and let the spirits fly in and out.
Oh Soul! You worry too much. Your arms are heavy with treasures of all kinds.
With every breath, I plant the seeds of devotion, I am a farmer of the heart.
The source is within you. And this whole world is springing up from it.