Pull The Thorn Of Existence Out Of

We Are As The Flute, And The Music In Us Is From Thee; We Are As The Mountain And The Echo In Us Is From Thee.

Many Prayers Are Declined Because Of The Rank Odor Of A Corrupt Heart, Rising Through The Beautiful Words. Let The Words Be Wrong But The Meaning Right. . . . That Flawed Utterance Is Dearer To God!

Let Yourself Be Silently Drawn By The Strange Pull Of What You Really Love. It Will Not Lead You Astray.

Oh My Friend, All That You See Of Me Is A Shell, The Rest Belongs To Love.

You’re A Song, A Wished-for Song.