My Friend, The Sufi Is The Friend

There Is No Worse Sickness For The Soul, O You Who Are Proud, Than This Pretense Of Perfection.

When Someone Critises Or Disagrees With You, A Small Ant Of Hatred And Antagonism Is Born In Your Heart. If You Do Not Squash That Ant At Once, It Might Grow Into A Snake, Or Even A Dragon.

Be Patient Where You Sit In The Dark. The Dawn Is Coming

My Head Is Bursting With The Joy Of The Unknown. My Heart Is Expanding A Thousand Fold.

What Does This Patch-sewing Mean You Ask? Eating And Drinking. The Heavy Cloak Of The Body Is Always Getting Torn. You Patch It With Food And Other Ego-satisfactions.