When I run after what I think I want, my days are a furnace of stress and anxiety; if I sit in my own place of patience, what I need flows to me, and without pain. From this I understand that what I want also wants me, is looking for me and attracting me. There is a great secret here for anyone who can grasp it.

I am part of the load not rightly balanced . . .

The Ripe FigNow that You live here in my chest,anywhere we sit is a mountaintop.And those other images,which have enchanted peoplelike porcelain dolls from China,which have made men and women weepfor centuries, even those have changed now.What used to be pain is a lovely benchwhere we can rest under the roses.A left hand has become a right.A dark wall, a window.A cushion in a shoe heel,the leader of the community!Now silence. What we sayis poison to someand nourishing to others.What we say is a ripe fig,but not every bird that flieseats figs.

Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom. How do they learn it? They fall and falling, they're given wings.

In the middle of my heart, a star appeared, and the seven heavens were lost in its brilliance.

Intellect in its effort to explain Love got stuck in the mud like an ass. Love alone could explain love and loving.

As you start to walk on the way, the way appears.