Stop Learning. Start Knowing

Your Eyelashes Will Write On My Heart The Poem That Could Never Come From The Pen Of A Poet.

Learn To Recognize The False Dawn From The True; Distinguish The Color Of The Wine From The Color Of The Cup. Then It May Be That Patience And Time May Produce, Out Of The Spectrum-viewing Sight, True Vision, And You Will Behold Colors Other Than These Mortal Hues, You Will See Pearls Instead Of Stones. Pearls, Did I Say? Nay More, You Will Become A Sea, You Will Become A Sun Traveling The Sky.

Love Is An Emotion. Totally Silent And Inexpressible With Words.

People Are Distracted By Objects Of Desire, And Afterwards Repent Of The Lust They've Indulged, Because They Have Indulged With A Phantom And Are Left Even Farther From Reality Than Before. Your Desire For The Illusory Is A Wing, By Means Of Which A Seeker Might Ascend To Reality. When You Have Indulged A Lust, Your Wing Drops Off; You Become Lame And That Fantasy Flees. Preserve The Wing And Don't Indulge Such Lust, So That The Wing Of Desire May Bear You To Paradise. People Fancy They Are Enjoying Themselves, But They Are Really Tearing Out Their Wings For The Sake Of An Illusion.

Through Your Love Existence And Nonexistence Merge. All Opposites Unite. All That Is Profane Becomes Sacred Again.