All Religions. All This Singing. One Song.

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.

Watch For All That Beauty Reflecting From You And Sing A Love Song To Your Existence.

I Seem Restless, But Am Deeply At Ease. Branches Tremble; The Roots Are Still.

Sorrow Prepares You For Joy. It Violently Sweeps Everything Out Of Your House, So That New Joy Can Find Space To Enter. It Shakes The Yellow Leaves From The Bough Of Your Heart, So That Fresh, Green Leaves Can Grow In Their Place. It Pulls Up The Rotten Roots, So That New Roots Hidden Beneath Have Room To Grow. Whatever Sorrow Shakes From Your Heart, Far Better Things Will Take Their Place.

The Breath Of The Flute Player: Does It Belong To The Flute?