As one progresses on the path, one seeks silence more and more. It will be a great comfort, a tremendous source of solace and peace . . . Here finally is the place where you need neither defense nor offense -- the place where you can truly be open. There will be bliss, wonder, the awe of attaining something pure and sacred . . . This is the peace that seems to elude so many.
I am in need of music that would flow Over my fretful, feeling fingertips. Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips, With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low, Of some song sun to rest the tired dead, A song to fall like water on my head, And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow.
