There Is A Basket Of Fresh Bread

Hear From The Heart Wordless Mysteries.

I Was A Tiny Bug. Now A Mountain. I Was Left Behind. Now Honored At The Head. You Healed My Wounded Hunger And Anger, And Made Me A Poet Who Sings About Joy.

I Want To Be Where Your Bare Foot Walks, Because Maybe Before You Step, You'll Look At The Ground. I Want That Blessing

Where You Are, Whatever Your Condition Is; Always Try To Be A Lover.

The Sweetness And Delights Of The Resting-place Are In Proportion To The Pain Endured On The Journey. Only When You Suffer The Pangs And Tribulations Of Exile Will You Truly Enjoy Your Homecoming.