In Winter The Bare Boughs That Seem

In This Earth, In This Immaculate Field, We Shall Not Plant Any Seeds Except For Compassion, Except For Love.

Through Love All That Is Bitter Will Be Sweet, Through Love All That Is Copper Will Be Gold, Through Love All Dregs Will Become Wine, Through Love All Pain Will Turn To Medicine.

Loaves Of Bread Remind Us Of Sunlight, But When We Are Inside That Orb,we Lose Interest In Building Ovens,in Millwork And The Preparation Of Fields Before The Planting.

A Thief Loves The Night. I Am Day. I Reveal Essences.

Poverty Is Not For The Sake Of Hardship. No, It Is There Because Nothing Exists But Allah. Poverty Unlocks The Door - What A Blessed Key!