If I knew for certain that I should die next week, I would still be able to sit at my desk all week and study with perfect equanimity, for I know now that life and death make a meaningful whole.
Sacred hart in the blackening wilderness stately deer, gracefully bounding, holy vision of the Eternal Heart; countless, unending blood memories, surge like gold through your rhythmic veins, ancient paths stir the soul's journey. Sleeping titans stand on the edge, disregarding the dark, grasping webs of life, or silver antlers shining with white wisdom, of pulsating pearls of poetry flowing from open eyes of song, as the saintly sculpture disappears from its vanishing home into a dying paradise.
When you see the world as part of yourself, you will take care of it. When you see yourself as part of the world, you will be cared for.
In the shining secret garden, the solitary sign of the crocus speaks once more through blackened snow. The poet's word has revived with the resurrected flower, echoing the refrain of the One Song.
