The Creator Gives No Heed

Why Dispute What We Shall Be, When We Know Not Even What We Are.

Advance, And Never Halt, For Advancing Is Perfection. Advance And Do Not Fear The Thorns In The Path, For They Draw Only Corrupt Blood.

Yes, There Is A Nirvanah; It Is Leading Your Sheep To A Green Pasture, And In Putting Your Child To Sleep, And In Writing The Last Line Of Your Poem

Long Were The Days Of Pain I Have Spent Within Its Walls, And Long Were The Nights Of Aloneness; And Who Can Depart From His Pain And His Aloneness Without Regret?

But You Who Walk Facing The Sun, What Images Drawn On The Earth Can Hold You? You Who Travel With The Wind, What Weathervane Shall Direct Your Course? What Man's Law Shall Bind You If You Break Your Yoke But Upon No Man's Prison Door? What Laws Shall You Fear If You Dance But Stumble Against No Man's Iron Chains? And Who Is He That Shall Bring You To Judgment If You Tear Off Your Garment Yet Leave It In No Man's Path? People Of Orphalese, You Can Muffle The Drum, And You Can Loosen The Strings Of The Lyre, But Who Shall Command The Skylark Not To Sing?