When I used to compose music, I'd sit for ages squeezing it out of myself; I made a huge effort, drove myself. But there was nothing like that this time. It was like music pouring out by itself. It was like the desire to sing – and I sang, the desire to pray – and I prayed. Do you remember?
The abbot said: "Let it come through you like something that doesn't belong to you."
The seed of prayer is sown in heaven. It pushes its stem toward the earth and comes to grow there. It produces an abundance of fruit. Then, as it becomes seed once more, it thrusts its way back to heaven.
The seed of prayer is sown in heaven. It pushes its stems toward the earth and comes to grow there. It produces an abundance of fruit. Then, as it becomes seed once more, it thrusts its way back to heaven.
