Love Will Find Its Way Through All

My Beloved Grows Right Out Of My Own Heart. How Much More Union Can There Be.

The Fault Is In The One Who Blames. Spirit Sees Nothing To Criticize.

You Must Lance An Ulcer To Heal It. You Must Tear Down Parts Of An Old Building To Restore It, And So It Is With A Sensual Life That Has No Spirit In It.

Raise Your Words, Not Voice. It Is Rain That Grows Flowers, Not Thunder.

My Souls Sits In Silence, And Then Asks Again, Where Are You In All Of This?