A Soul Which Is Not Clothed With

Whoever Travels Without A Guide, Needs Two Hundred Years For A Two-day Journey.

No More Words. Hear Only The Voice Within.

There’s A Morning When Presence Comes Over Your Soul. You Sing Like A Rooster In Your Earth-colored Shape. Your Heart Hears And, No Longer Frantic, Begins To Dance.

The Cure For Pain Is In The Pain. Good And Bad Are Mixed. If You Don't Have Both, You Don't Belong With Us.

In Winter The Bare Boughs That Seem To Sleep Work Covertly, Preparing For Their Spring.