When The Light Returns To Its Source,

The Lovers Of God Have No Religion But God Alone.

The Ripe Fignow That You Live Here In My Chest,anywhere We Sit Is A Mountaintop.and Those Other Images,which Have Enchanted Peoplelike Porcelain Dolls From China,which Have Made Men And Women Weepfor Centuries, Even Those Have Changed Now.what Used To Be Pain Is A Lovely Benchwhere We Can Rest Under The Roses.a Left Hand Has Become A Right.a Dark Wall, A Window.a Cushion In A Shoe Heel,the Leader Of The Community!now Silence. What We Sayis Poison To Someand Nourishing To Others.what We Say Is A Ripe Fig,but Not Every Bird That Flieseats Figs.

Out Beyond Ideas Of Wrongdoing And Rightdoing There Is A Field. I'll Meet You There. When The Soul Lies Down In That Grass The World Is Too Full To Talk About.

Oh Sky, Without Me, Do Not Change, Oh Moon, Without Me, Do Not Shine; Oh Earth, Without Me, Do Not Grow, Oh Time, Without Me, Do Not Go. ...oh, You Cannot Go, Without Me.

Last Night I Learned How To Be A Lover Of God. To Live In This World And Call Nothing My Own.