Let Silence Speak To You

Last Night My Teacher Taught Me The Lesson Of Poverty: Having Nothing And Wanting Nothing.

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.

The Fluteplayer Puts Breath Into A Flute, And Who Makes The Music? Not The Flute. The Fluteplayer!

Don't Insist On Going Where You Think You Want To Go. Ask The Way To The Spring.

When I Am Silent, I Fall Into The Place Where Everything Is Music.