A Pen Went Scribbling Along.

There Is A Basket Of Fresh Bread On Your Head, Yet You Go Door To Door Asking For Crusts.

This Mirror Inside Me Shows. I Can’t Say What, But I Can’t Not Know. I Run From Body. I Run From Spirit. I Do Not Belong Anywhere.

When I Run After What I Think I Want, My Days Are A Furnace Of Stress And Anxiety; If I Sit In My Own Place Of Patience, What I Need Flows To Me, And Without Pain. From This I Understand That What I Want Also Wants Me, Is Looking For Me And Attracting Me. There Is A Great Secret Here For Anyone Who Can Grasp It.

A Heart Filled With Love Is Like A Phoenix That No Cage Can Imprison.

No Sickness Worse Than Imagining Thyself To Be Perfect Can Afflict Thy Soul.