The Heart Has Its Own Language. The

There Came One And Knocked At The Door Of The Beloved. And A Voice Answered And Said, 'who Is There?' The Lover Replied, 'it Is I.' 'go Hence,' Returned The Voice; 'there Is No Room Within For Thee And Me.' Then Came The Lover A Second Time And Knocked And Again The Voice Demanded, 'who Is There?' He Answered, 'it Is Thou.' 'enter,' Said The Voice, 'for I Am Within.

This Is Love: To Fly Toward A Secret Sky, To Cause A Hundred Veils To Fall Each Moment. First, To Let Go Of Life. In The End, To Take A Step Without Feet; To Regard This World As Invisible, And To Disregard What Appears To Be The Self. Heart, I Said, What A Gift It Has Been To Enter This Circle Of Lovers, To See Beyond Seeing Itself, To Reach And Feel Within The Breast.

The Way The Beloved Can Fit In My Heart, Two Thousand Lives Could Fit In This Body Of Mine. One Kernel Could Contain A Thousand Bushels, And A Hundred Worlds Pass Through The Eye Of The Needle.

Where Lowland Is, That's Where Water Goes. All Medicine Wants Is Pain To Cure.

Play The Flute Of Felicity! You, Yourself, Are The Melody.