And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and the silences of night.
Like a procession you walk together towards your god-self.
When love beckons to you, follow him,
To belittle, you have to be little.
And since you are a breath in God's sphere, and a leaf in God's forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion.
For the soul walks upon all paths.
Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
And that the corner-stone of the temple is not higher than the lowest stone in its foundation.
For the vision of one man lends not its wings to another man.
Poichè l'amore come v'incorona così vi crocefigge. E come vi fa fiorire così vi reciderà.
Work with love, it is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart.
And that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space.
For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life's procession that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite.
So the wrong-doer cannot do wrong without the hidden will of you all.
Would that I could gather your houses into my hand, and like a sower scatter them in forest and meadow.
And verily he will find the roots of the good and the bad, the fruitful and the fruitless, all entwined together in the silent heart of the earth.
For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst?
The lust for comfort kills the passions of the soul.
Would that you could live on the fragrance of the earth, and like an air plant be sustained by the light.
And when one of you falls down he falls for those behind him, a caution against the stumbling stone.
For what is prayer but the expansion of your self into the living ether?
The mind speaks not more sweetly to the giant Oaks than to the least of all blades of grass, And he alone is great who turns the voice of the wind into a song made sweeter by his own loving
Would the valleys were your streets, and the green paths your alleys, that you might seek one another through vineyards, and come with the fragrance of the earth in your garments.
As the strings of a lute are apart though they quiver the same music.
God listens not to your words save when He Himself utters them through your lips.
The musician may sing to you of the rhythm which is in all space, but he cannot give you the ear which arrests the rhythm, nor the voice that echoes it.
Yea, I shall return with the tide.
Aye, and he falls for those ahead of him, who, though faster and surer of foot, yet removed not the stumbling stone.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories