All language is a longing for home.
Your hand opens and closes, opens and closes. If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralysed. Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding, the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as birds' wings.
O, Great Spirit, open my eyes, open heart's wings, open my ears to your voice in all things.
We can't help being thirsty, moving toward the voice of water.
Concentrate on the Essence, concentrate on the Light.
Be patient where you sit in the dark. The dawn is coming