I embrace emerging experience.I participate in discovery.I am a butterfly.I am not a butterfly collector.I want the experience of the butterfly.
Let the bucket of memory down into the well,bring it up. Cool, cool minutes. No onestirring, no plans. Just being there.
You and I can turn and lookat the silent river and wait. We knowthe current is there, hidden; and thereare comings and goings from miles awaythat hold the stillness exactly before us.What the river says, that is what I say.
The more you let yourself be distracted from where you are going, the more you are the person that you are. It's not so much like getting lost as it is like getting found.
Even the upper end of the riverbelieves in the ocean.
I keep following this sort of hidden river of my life, you know, whatever the topic or impulse which comes, I follow it along trustingly. And I don't have any sense of its coming to a kind of crescendo, or of its petering out either. It is just going steadily along.
One way to find your place is likethe rain, a million requestsfor lodging, one that wins, findsyour cheek: you find your home.
"It's love," they say. You touchthe right one and a whole half of the universewakes up, a new half.
. . . You were aimed from birth:you will never be alone. Rainwill come, a gutter filled, an Amazon,long aisles -- you never heard so deep a sound,moss on rock, and years. You turn your head --that's what the silence meant: you're not alone. The whole wide world pours down.
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