When Henry wove a rug, he wove from the depths of his spirit and from the fullness of his heart, and with the careful eye of a focused mind. Directly across from his upright loom, at eye level on the concave wall of the hut, Henry had lettered a small sign for his own inspiration: BY THEIR WORKS YE SHALL KNOW THEM. And more, it was a reminder that his remission from consumption, he believed, had come as a consequence of work with his hands. Work for him was the very stuff of salvation and healing. For that reason, whenever he should write or type or spell the word "work" for any reason, he would use an uppercase "W" as its beginning.
Just sit there right now
Don't do a thing
Just rest
For your separation from God
Is the hardest work in this world
Let me bring you trays of food
And something that you like to drink
You can use my soft words
As a cushion for your head
The small man
Builds cages for everyone
He
knows.
While the sage,
Who has to duck his head
When the moon is low,
Keeps dropping keys all night long
For the
Beautiful
Rowdy
Prisoners.
~ from THE GIFT by Hafiz, translated by Daniel Ladinsky