Home is where the heart is not famished, the eye not starved, the Sacred not banished or desecrated. The Sacred cannot be caught in formulas. It cannot be analyzed, not even in terms of ecology, as beauty cannot be caught in the semantics of esthetics. Fingers pointing toward the Transcendent need no vocabulary, for they do not preach. Beyond the dialects of all religions they witness to a religious attitude toward life itself.
~ from FINGERS POINTING TOWARD THE SACRED by Frederick Franck
Know who you are. Do not debase the name. Carry it in your heart, a root flame of love. Walk through the world in silence. The moment will come. The sign will be a soft stirring of wings, a gold shimmer of air.
In the forest was a path which led on, and on as if an access to a deeper realm — a place where peripherals, the eddies at the edge of things, were all forgotten, and I entered a silence of green, became a soundless vortex moving through stillness.
Know who you are. Do not debase the name. Carry it in your heart, a root flame of love. Walk through the world in silence. The moment will come. The sign will be a soft, stirring of wings, a gold shimmer of air.
