The Miracle Of Jesus Is Himself, Not

Your Depression Is Connected To Your Insolence And Refusal To Praise.

There Is A Morning Inside You Waiting To Burst Open Into Light.

Oh You, Unceasing Sun, To Me Your Particles Communicate The Luminous Essence Of God, Are You Our God? I Do Not Know. Intoxicated, I Say Nought, Bewitched By The Magic Potion. I Cannot Differentiate Between My Drunk And Sober State.

Asleep Or Awake, Writing Or Reading, Whatever You Do, You Must Never Be Without The Remembrance Of God.

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.