In the Friend-place nothing true can be said. Let Me Just Be Here.

I have lived on the lip of insanity, wanting to know reasons, knocking on a door. It opens. I've been knocking from the inside.

If these poems repeat themselves, then so does Spring.

You knock at the door of Reality. You shake your thought wings, loosen your shoulders, and open.

In things spiritual, there is no partition, no number, no individuals. How sweet is the oneness-unearth the treasure of Unity.

Do you pay regular visits to yourself? Don't argue or answer rationally. Let us die, and dying, reply.

Go to the well of deep Love inside each of Us.