Near the shadow of first things look for the jacket that will protect us from the grain, carry on the unhindered path the workers' wicker basket.
The trees my brothers, to be the wind of a secret purpose in the immobility of shock, be the open.
Don't give up, one step aside and it would be the end.
Honest language and silence, lift up our hearts to the altar of encounters, reception of our works, agreement with the soul of the world.
Rub his stone against the stone of the other without sorrow keeping us away, we, not attached to comfort, we, in the space, glimpses, reed sway, through the periscope of our loves.
