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Metta
"St John of the Cross heard an Arab love poem Through the bars and began his poem" ~Robert Bly This is a wide ocean, we could swim for centuries and never find a shore but... More »
Metta
Beloved, what am I to do with this Self? I am Everything and nothing at all. There is no"where" to turn, yet unlimited Ways. Everyone is right, even the one who forgets You - and... More »
Metta
Why worry that the lover is in pain while moaning for her Beloved? This ache is more glorious than any worldly joy because He is her pain. Let her weep her tears of longing for... More »
Metta
Sundays always pull from somewhere bring me here, to your door a pattern of grey stone with light that glows crosses, four leaf clovers, a celebration of death how reunion sings such joyous songs how... More »
Metta
Say to me that which has not been said or written about in failing words. How many ways can we say that night turns to dawn or that the sleeper will awaken? Tell me that which... More »
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