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

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.

Limp along until your legs are spent, and you fall flat and your energy is drained. Then the grace of the Divine will lift you.

The hurt you embrace becomes joy.

I was a tiny bug. Now a mountain. I was left behind. Now honored at the head. You healed my wounded hunger and anger, and made me a poet who sings about joy.

This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. Welcome and entertain them all!

When the ocean surges, don't let me just hear it. Let it splash inside my chest!