Travelers, There Is No Path, Paths Are

Last Night As I Was Sleeping, I Dreamt - Marvellous Error! - That It Was God I Had Here Inside My Heart.

The Afternoon Is Bright, With Spring In The Air, A Mild March Afternoon, With The Breath Of April Stirring, I Am Alone In The Quiet Patio Looking For Some Old Untried Illusion - Some Shadow On The Whiteness Of The Wall Some Memory Asleep On The Stone Rim Of The Fountain, Perhaps In The Air The Light Swish Of Some Trailing Gown.

At The Very Smallest Wheel Of Our Reasoning It Is Possible For A Handful Of Questions To Break The Bank Of Our Answers.

Beware Of The Community In Which Blasphemy Does Not Exist: Underneath, Atheism Runs Rampant.

There Is No Road, The Road Is Made By Walking.