Your calling my name is My reply. Your longing for Me is My message to you.
There's hidden sweetness in the stomach's emptiness.
The waterwheel accepts water and turns and gives it away, weeping.
Joy lives concealed in grief.
Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes. If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralyzed.
Whatever posessions and objects of its desires the lower self may obtain, it hangs on to them, refusing to let them go out of greed for more, or out of fear of poverty and need.