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Winter cannot recall the fullness of summer, Nor summer the trees grown stark and cold, So seasons pass in the footsteps of each other, Never growing younger or ever turning old.

Our True Self is, in part, a secret field where a never-ending cycle of ebb and flow plays itself out in passing expressions of alternating fullness and emptiness, much as runoff winter waters from great mountains rush down to fill valley lakes parched by the passage of summer. But the greater part of our Original…

Our every action is a prayer, for our deeds are seeds and by them we plant the world we will walk through tomorrow.

Our experience of life is somewhat like a game of ping pong. Someone says something to us that we perceive as negative, and a certain “I” pops up that we identify with. The content of that “I” then directs our thoughts and actions. The other person probably doesn’t even have a clue that they said…
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