The Dark Thought, The Shame, The Malice,

God Picks Up The Reed-flute World And Blows. Each Note Is A Need Coming Through One Of Us, A Passion, A Longing Pain. Remember The Lips Where The Wind-breath Originated, And Let Your Note Be Clear. Don't Try To End It. Be Your Note.

If You Desire Healing, Let Yourself Fall Ill Let Yourself Fall Ill.

There Is A Basket Of Fresh Bread On Your Head, Yet You Go Door To Door Asking For Crusts.

The Fault Is In The One Who Blames. Spirit Sees Nothing To Criticize.

Sometimes You Hear A Voice Through The Door Calling You... This Turning Toward What You Deeply Love Saves You.