Criticism Polishes My Mirror.

There Is An Unseen Sweetness In The Stomach’s Emptiness. We Are Lutes. When The Sound Box Is Filled, No Music Can Come Forth. When The Brain And The Belly Burn From Fasting, Every Moment A New Song Rises Out Of The Fire. The Mists Clear, And A New Vitality Makes You Spring Up The Steps Before You . . .

The Angel Is Free Because Of His Knowledge, The Beast Because Of His Ignorance. Between The Two Remains The Son Of Man To Struggle.

Speak With The Language Of Love.

Yesterday Is Gone And Took Away Its Tale. Today We Must Live A Fresh Story Again.

The Spiritual Path Wrecks The Body And Afterwards Restores It To Health. It Destroys The House To Unearth The Treasure, And With That Treasure Builds It Better Than Before.