Your Heart Is The Size Of An

If You Are Irritated By Every Rub, How Will Your Mirror Be Polished?

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.

Every Midwife Knows That Not Until A Mother’s Womb Softens From The Pain Of Labor Will A Way Unfold And The Infant Find That Opening To Be Born. Oh Friend! There Is Treasure In Your Heart, It Is Heavy With Child. Listen. All The Awakened Ones, Like Trusted Midwives Are Saying, 'welcome This Pain. It Opens The Dark Passage Of Grace.

The Gates Made Of Light Swing Open. You See In.

Indeed Envy Is A Defect; Worse Than Any Other.