...one Cannot Lodge In If.

Oh Soul! You Worry Too Much. Your Arms Are Heavy With Treasures Of All Kinds.

Carry Your Baggage Towards Silence , When You Seek The Signs Of The Way.

You, Ignorant Of The Way Of Love, Set Me Free.

Every Tree, Every Growing Thing As It Grows, Says This Truth, You Harvest What You Sow.

Through Your Love Existence And Nonexistence Merge. All Opposites Unite. All That Is Profane Becomes Sacred Again.