57
My flower, seek not thy paradise
in a fool's buttonhole.
58
Thou hast risen late, my crescent moon,
but my night bird is still awake to greet thee.
59
Darkness is the veiled bride
silently waiting for the errant light
to return to her bosom.
60
Trees are the earth's endless effort to
speak to the listening heaven.
61
The burden of self is lightened
when I laugh at myself.
62
The weak can be terrible
because they try furiously to appear strong.
63
The wind of heaven blows,
The anchor desperately clutches the mud,
and my boat is beating its breast against the chain.
64
The spirit of death is one,
the spirit of life is many,
When God is dead religion becomes one.