I am dying into your mystery, and dying, I am now no other than that mystery. I open to your majesty as an orchard welcomes rain, and twenty times that.

And you? When will you begin that long journey into yourself?

Is your face a beautiful blossom or a sweet torture? I have no complaints but my heart is tempted to let you hear of its sorrows.

This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life. Finally, to take a step without feet.

We cannot steal the fire. We must enter it.

Know the true definition of yourself. That is essential. Then, when you know your own definition, flee from it.

Because the Beloved wants to know, unseen things become manifest. Hiding is the hidden purpose of creation.