Love And Death Are The Great Gifts

What Is Needed Is, In The End, Simply This: Solitude, Great Inner Solitude.

My Blood Is Alive With Many Voices Telling Me I Am Made Of Longing.

We Are Not Permitted To Linger, Even With What Is Most Intimate.

...a Carefree Letting Go Of Oneself, Not A Caution, But A Wise Blindness.

This Is What The Things Can Teach Us: To Fall, Patiently To Trust Our Heaviness. Even A Bird Has To Do That Before He Can Fly.