Deprivation Is The Mother Of Poetry.

Stunned And Still Not Suffering. Swollen With Care And Anxiety And Still Not Suffering. Useless, Old And Full Of Grief, But Still Not Suffering.

At The Very Center Of Our Culture Is A Crucified Man, A Tortured Man Hanging On A Cross Of Wood. You Have An Image Of Violence At The Very Center Of Our Spiritual Investigation.

Your Heart Opens And Of Course You're Completely Panicked Because You're Used To Guarding This Organ With Your Life.

We All Are Motivated By Deep Impulses And Deep Appetites To Serve, Even Though We May Not Be Able To Locate That Which We Are Hoping To Serve. So This Is Just A Part Of My Nature And I Think Everybody Else's Nature To Offer Oneself At The Critical Moment When The Emergency Becomes Articulate. It's Only Then That We Can Locate That Willingness To Serve.

I Heard Of A Man Who Says Words So Beautifully That If He Only Speaks Their Name Women Give Themselves To Him. If I Am Dumb Beside Your Body While Silence Blossoms Like Tumors On Our Lips It Is Because I Hear A Man Climb Stairs And Clear His Throat Outside Our Door.