The Only Thing I Know Is This:

You Have Your Brush, You Have Your Colors, You Paint The Paradise, Then In You Go.

If Only We Know, Boss, What The Stones And Rain And Flowers Say. Maybe They Call-call Us-and We Don't Hear Them. When Will People's Ears Open, Boss? When Shall We Have Our Eyes Open To See? When Shall We Open Our Arms To Embrace Everything-stones, Rain, Flowers, And People? What Do You Think About That, Boss? And What Do Your Books Have To Say About That?

Reach What You Cannot

Death's Dry Bones Glowed With Light In The Erotic Dark But He Woke Not Nor Felt The Two Warm Bodies Merge; The Male Worm Then Took Heart And In His Wife's Ear Whispered: "with One Sweet Kiss, Dear Wife, We've Conquered Conquering Death!

What, Then Is Our Duty? It Is To Carefully Distinguish The Historic Moment In Which We Live And To Consciously Assign Our Small Energies To A Specific Battlefield. The More We Are In Phase With The Current Which Leads The Way, The More We Aid Man In His Difficult, Uncertain, Danger-fraught Ascent Toward Salvation.