I do not see what use a man can be put to, whose word cannot be trusted. How can a wagon be made to go if it has no yoke-bar, or a carriage if it has no collar-bar?
Love is the scent with the lotus born. It is the silent choirs of petals singing winter’s harmony of uniform beauty. Love is the song of the soul, singing to God. It is the balanced rhythmic dance of planets – sun and moonlit.
The mind is the instrument, the flywheel, and the thickest comrade of man. Through it, one can ruin oneself or save oneself. Regulated and controlled, channeled properly it can liberate; wayward and let loose, it can entangle and bind fast.
Like the waves in great rivers, there is no turning back of that which has previously been done…The soul is bound with the fetters made of the fruit of good and evil.
