Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about language, ideas, even the phrase each other doesn't make any sense.

Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home.

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"There's no courage", The Prophet said, "before the war has begun." Drunkards vaunt their bravery when you speak of war. But in the blaze of battle they scatter like mice. I'm astonished by the man who wants purity And yet trembles when the harshness of polishing begin... When a man beats a carpet again and again It's not the carpet he's attacking, but the dirt in it.