Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colours, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.
Every gardener knows that under the cloak of winter lies a miracle …a seed waiting to sprout, a bulb opening to the light, a bud straining to unfurl. And the anticipation nurtures our dream.
We are responsible for what we are, and whatever we wish ourselves to be, we have the power to make ourselves. So we have to know how to act.
Summer is the time when one sheds one’s tensions with one’s clothes, and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit.
Meditating on the lotus of your heart, in the centre is the untainted, the exquisitely pure, clear and sorrowless, the inconceivable, the unmanifest, of infinite form, blissful, tranquil, immortal, the womb of Brahma.
