'We are reaching into the silence.
Are we the music, whilst the music plays?
Between the un-being and the being,
sounds a hollow rumbling of wings...
Am I here, or there, or elsewhere?'
(With My apologies to T.S. Eliot)
Sunday, 9 May 2010
Blossoms are scattered by the wind and the wind cares nothing, but the blossoms of the heart no wind can touch.