No sickness worse than imagining thyself to be perfect can afflict thy soul.
Love is an endless ocean, with no beginning or end. Imagine, a suspended ocean, riding on a cushion of ancient secrets.
The spirit and the body carry different loads and require different attentions. Too often we put the saddlebags on Jesus and let the donkey run loose in the pasture.
The Heart of the matter is Soul, nothing else.
Everything about yesterday has gone with yesterday. Today, it is needed to say new things.
Love rushed into my veins emptying me of myself. Now filled with the Beloved my only possession is my name.