Only He Deserves Power Who Every Day

So Rests The Sky Against The Earth. The Dark Still Tarn In The Lap Of The Forest. As A Husband Embraces His Wife's Body In Faithful Tenderness, So The Bare Ground And Trees Are Embraced By The Still, High, Light Of The Morning. I Feel An Ache Of Longing To Share In This Embrace, To Be United And Absorbed. A Longing Like Carnal Desire, But Directed Towards Earth, Water, Sky, And Returned By The Whispers Of The Trees, The Fragrance Of The Soil, The Caresses Of The Wind, The Embrace Of Water And Light. Content? No, No, No - But Refreshed, Rested - While Waiting.

Like The Bee, We Distill Poison From Honey For Our Self-defense--what Happens To The Bee If It Uses Its Sting Is Well Known.

You Cannot Play With The Animal In You Without Becoming Wholly Animal, Play With Falsehood Without Forfeiting Your Right To Truth, Play With Cruelty Without Losing Your Sensitivity Of Mind. He Who Wants To Keep His Garden Tidy Does Not Reserve A Plot For Weeds

Unless There Is A Spiritual Renaissance, The World Will Know No Peace.

Fatigue Dulls The Pain, But Awakes Enticing Thoughts Of Death. So! That Is The Way In Which You Are Tempted To Overcome Your Loneliness -- By Making The Ultimate Escape From Life. -- No! It May Be That Death Is To Be Your Ultimate Gift To Life: It Must Not Be An Act Of Treachery Against It.