If Only I May Grow: Firmer, Simpler,

Humility Before The Flower At The Timber Line Is The Gate Which Gives Access To The Path Up The Open Fell.

Each Morning We Must Hold Out The Chalice Of Our Being To Receive, To Carry, And Give Back. It Must Be Held Out Empty - For The Past Must Only Be Reflected In Its Polish, Its Shape, Its Capacity.

The Myths Have Always Condemned Those Who 'looked Back.' Condemned Them, Whatever The Paradise May Have Been Which They Were Leaving. Hence This Shadow Over Each Departure From Your Decision.

Here Man Is No Longer The Center Of The World, Only A Witness, But A Witness Who Is Also A Partner In The Silent Life Of Nature, Bound By Secret Affinities Of The Trees.

You Take The Pen, And The Lines Dance. You Take The Flute And The Notes Shimmer. You Take The Brush, And The Colors Sing. So All Things Have Meaning And Beauty In That Space Beyond Time Where You Are. How, Then, Can I Hold Back Anything From You?