Take Sips Of This Pure Wine Being

I Never Really Cared For The Things Of This World. It Was The Glow Of Your Presence That Filled It With Beauty.

Pour Out Wine Till I Become A Wanderer From Myself; For In Selfhood And Existence I Have Felt Only Fatigue.

We Are The Fingertips Of Blind Illusion, You Are The Absolute Cause Of Causes.

You Are A Lover Of Your Own Experience ... Not Of Me ... You Turn To Me To Feel Ur Own Emotion

I, You, He, She, We In The Garden Of Mystic Lovers, These Are Not True Distinctions.