Calm And Serene The Sound Of A

The Desire To Break The Silence With Constant Human Noise Is, I Believe, Precisely An Avoidance Of The Sacred Terror Of That Divine Encounter.

Every Day Is A Journey, And The Journey Itself Is Home.

Ballet In The Air... Twin Butterflies Until, Twice White They Meet, They Mate

In This Poor Body, Composed Of One Hundred Bones And Nine Openings, Is Something Called Spirit, A Flimsy Curtain Swept This Way And That By The Slightest Breeze. It Is Spirit, Such As It Is, Which Led Me To Poetry, At First Little More Than A Pastime, Then The Full Business Of My Life. There Have Been Times When My Spirit, So Dejected, Almost Gave Up The Quest, Other Times When It Was Proud, Triumphant. So It Has Been From The Very Start, Never Finding Peace With Itself, Always Doubting The Worth Of What It Makes.

There Is Nothing You Can See That Is Not A Flower; There Is Nothing You Can Think That Is Not The Moon.