Disguise Our Bondage As We Will, 'tis

Romantic Love Is An Illusion. Most Of Us Discover This Truth At The End Of A Love Affair Or Else When The Sweet Emotions Of Love Lead Us Into Marriage And Then Turn Down Their Flames.

When We Relate To Our Bodies As Having Soul, We Attend To Their Beauty, Their Poetry And Their Expressiveness. Our Very Habit Of Treating The Body As A Machine, Whose Muscles Are Like Pulleys And Its Organs Engines, Forces Its Poetry Underground, So That We Experience The Body As An Instrument And See Its Poetics Only In Illness.

Disappointments In Love, Even Betrayals And Losses, Serve The Soul At The Very Moment They Seem In Life To Be Tragedies. The Soul Is Partly In Time And Partly In Eternity. We Might Remember The Part That Resides In Eternity When We Feel Despair Over The Part That Is In Life.

The Key To Seeing The World's Soul, And In The Process Wakening Our Own, Is To Get Over The Confusion By Which We Think That Fact Is Real And Imagination Is Illusion.

You May Break, You May Shatter The Vase, If You Will, But The Scent Of The Roses Will Hang Round It Still.