How Distant I Am From People When

Like Sheaves Of Corn It Gathers You Unto Itself. It Threshes You To Make You Naked. It Sifts You To Free You From Your Husks. It Grinds You To Whiteness. It Kneads You Until You Are Pliant. And Then It Assigns You To Its Sacred Fire, That You May Become Sacred Bread For God's Sacred Feast. All These Things Shall Love Do Unto You That You May Know The Secrets Of Your Heart, And In That Knowledge Become A Fragment Of Life's Heart.

And All Knowledge Is Vain Save When There Is Work, And All Work Is Empty Save When There Is Love; And When You Work With Love You Bind Yourself To Yourself, And To One Another, And To God.

The Smallest Act Of Kindness Is Worth More Than The Greatest Intention.

Life Is The Mistress To Be Wooed.

Who Can Depart From His Pain And Aloneness Without Regret? Too Many Fragments Of The Spirit Have I Scattered In These Streets, And Too Many Are The Children Of My Longing That Walk Naked Among These Hills, And I Cannot Withdraw From Them Without A Burden And An Ache. It Is Not A Garment I Cast Off This Day, Bit A Skin That I Tear With My Own Hands... Yet I Cannot Tarry Longer.