Silence will carry your voice like the nest that holds the sleeping birds.
The Great walks with the Small without fear.
The Middling keeps aloof.
The night opens the flowers in secret and allows the day to get thanks.
Power takes as ingratitude the writhings of its victims.
When we rejoice in our fulness, then we can part with our fruits with joy.
The raindrops kissed the earth and whispered, We are thy homesick
children, mother, come back to thee from the heaven.
The cobweb pretends to catch dewdrops and catches flies.
Love! When you come with the burning lamp of pain in your hand,
I can see your face and know you as bliss.