Felling A Tree And Gazing At The

Winter Solitude- In A World Of One Colour The Sound Of The Wind.

How I Long To See Among Dawn Flowers, The Face Of God.

Operating Superficially, The Mind Is Random In Its Activity And Stale In Its Insights And Images. However, With Practice And Experience The Mind Is Freed From The Skull, And The Fresh And New Can Appear As Though For The First Time. It

A Flute With No Holes Is Not A Flute.

Sadly, I Part From You; Like A Clam Torn From Its Shell, I Go, And Autumn Too.