For The Breath Of Life

Our God, Who Art Our Winged Self, It Is Thy Will In Us That Willeth. It Is Thy Desire In Us That Desireth. It Is Thy Urge In Us That Would Turn Our Nights, Which Are Thine, Into Days Which Are Thine Also. We Cannot Ask Thee For Aught, For Thou Knowest Our Needs Before They Are Born In Us: Thou Art Our Need; And In Giving Us More Of Thyself Thou Givest Us All.

Humanity Is A River Of Light Running From The Ex-eternity To Eternity.

Verily The Lust For Comfort Murders The Passion Of The Soul, And Then Walks Grinning In The Funeral.

Art Is A Step In The Known Toward The Unknown

And Is Not Time Even As Love Is, Undivided And Paceless? But If In You Thought You Must Measure Time Into Seasons, Let Each Season Encircle All The Other Seasons, And Let Today Embrace The Past With Remembrance And The Future With Longing.