The Prophet

Your work is where your love goes to become visible. Or where it goes to hide.

Let there be spaces in your togetherness. Marriage advice from 1923 that still outranks podcasts.

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

The deeper sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. I reread it in a hard week.

Stand together yet not too near together. The oak and the cypress grow in each other's shadow, badly.

On giving: you give little when you give of your possessions. It's when you give of yourself.

On pain: it is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

On talk: when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart, you live in words. Ouch.

On death: for what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?

Carried out of it: a hundred pages that read like a friend's voice at a bus station. Take the bus.