Far More Frightening Than The Thought Of

Each Life Reverberates In Every Other Life. Whether Or Not We Acknowledge It, We Are Connected, Woven Together In Our Needs And Desires, Rich And Poor, Men And Women Alike.

The Hope You Feel When You Are In Love Is Not Necessarily For Anything In Particular. Love Brings Something Inside You To Life. Perhaps It Is Just The Full Dimensionality Of Your Own Capacity To Feel That Returns. In This State You Think No Impediment Can Be Large Enough To Interrupt Your Passion. The Feeling Spills Beyond The Object Of Your Love To Color The Whole World. The Mood Is Not Unlike The Mood Of Revolutionaries In The First Blush Of Victory, At The Dawn Of Hope. Anything Seems Possible. And In The Event Of Failure, It Will Be This Taste Of Possibility That Makes Disillusion Bitter.

Self-reflection Is A Desire Felt By The Body, As Well As The Soul. As Dancers, Healers, And Saints All Know, When You Turn Your Attention Toward Even The Simplest Physical Process - Breath, The Small Movements Of The Eyes, The Turning Of A Foot In Midair - What Might Have Seemed Dull Matter Suddenly Awakens.

We Are Nature. We Are Nature Seeing Nature. The Red-winged Blackbird Flies In Us.

The Hard Surface Of The Stone Is Impervious To Nothing In The End. The Heat Of The Sun Leaves Evidence Of Daylight. Each Drop Of Rain Changes The Form; Even The Wind And The Air Itself, Invisible To Our Eyes, Etches Its Presence. … All History Is Taken In By Stones.