Sadness Is But A Wall Between Two

But You Who Walk Facing The Sun, What Images Drawn On The Earth Can Hold You? You Who Travel With The Wind, What Weathervane Shall Direct Your Course? What Man's Law Shall Bind You If You Break Your Yoke But Upon No Man's Prison Door? What Laws Shall You Fear If You Dance But Stumble Against No Man's Iron Chains? And Who Is He That Shall Bring You To Judgment If You Tear Off Your Garment Yet Leave It In No Man's Path? People Of Orphalese, You Can Muffle The Drum, And You Can Loosen The Strings Of The Lyre, But Who Shall Command The Skylark Not To Sing?

Those To Whom Worshiping Is A Window, To Open But Also To Shut, Have Not Yet Visited The House Of Their Souls Whose Windows Are Open From Dawn To Dawn.

A Friend Who Is Far Away Is Sometimes Much Nearer Than One Who Is At Hand. Is Not The Mountain Far More Awe-inspiring And More Clearly Visible To One Passing Through The Valley Than To Those Who Inhabit The Mountain?

For The First Time The Sun Kissed My Own Naked Face And My Soul Was Inflamed With Love For The Sun, And I Wanted My Masks No More. And As If In A Trance I Cried, "blessed, Blessed Are The Thieves Who Stole My Masks." Thus I Became A Madman.

Would That I Could Be The Peacemaker In Your Soul, That I Might Turn The Discord And The Rivalry Of Your Elements Into Oneness And Melody.