For The Most Part, We, Who Could

I Think One Must Do The Thing -- Whatever It Is (and It Changes From Time To Time) -- That Unites You To The Flowing Stream Of The World. At Any Price, One Must Do It First. Otherwise One Can Do Nothing, Nothing At All. One Is Out Of Touch, Out Of Grace.

I Feel We Are All Islands - In A Common Sea.

Arranging A Bowl Of Flowers In The Morning Can Give A Sense Of Quiet In A Crowded Day - Like Writing A Poem Or Saying A Prayer.

Parting Is Inevitably Painful, Even For A Short Time. It's Like An Amputation, I Feel A Limb Is Being Torn Off, Without Which I Shall Be Unable To Function. And Yet, Once It Is Done... Life Rushes Back Into The Void, Richer, More Vivid And Fuller Than Before.

For Relationships, Too, Must Be Like Islands. One Must Accept Them For What They Are Here And Now, Within Their Limits - Islands Surrounded And Interrupted By The Sea, Continuously Visited And Abandoned By The Tides. One Must Accept The Serenity Of The Winged Life, Of Ebb And Flow, Of Intermittency.