At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine. Breathe into me. Close the language-door, and open the love-window. The moon won’t use the door, only the window.
Soul receives from soul that knowledge, therefore, not by book, nor from tongue. If knowledge of mysteries comes after emptiness of mind, that is illumination of heart.
O soul, you worry too much. You have seen your own strength. You have seen your own beauty. You have seen your golden wings. Of anything less, why do you worry? You are in truth the soul, of the soul, of the soul.
Your hand opens and closes, opens and closes. If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralysed. Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding, the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as birds’ wings.
Nothing I say can explain to you divine love. Yet all of creation cannot seem to stop talking about it.
My Place is the placeless, my trace is the traceless; ‘I’ is neither body nor soul, for ‘I’ belong to the soul of the Beloved. I have put duality away, I have seen that the two worlds are one; One I seek, One I know, One I see, One I call.
This outward spring and garden are a reflection of the inward garden.
The time has come to turn your heart into a temple of fire. Your essence is gold hidden in dust. To reveal its splendour you need to burn in the fire of love.