There is a way between voice and presence where information flows. 

In disciplined silence, it opens. 

With wandering talk, it closes. 

Mawlānā Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Balkhī

مولانا جلالالدین محمد بلخی

A traveling life... For we are blessed.

You are in your body

As a plant is in the earth

Yet you are yes the wind.

-Maureen Mclane from "peony"

Burning Man 2014

Old plum tree bent and gnarled

All at once opens one blossom, two blossoms,

three, four, five blossoms, uncountable blossoms..

Whirling, changing into wind, wild rain, 

falling, snow, all over the earth. 

Zen master

“On rainy afternoons, embroidering with a group of friends on the begonia porch, she would lose the thread of the conversation and a tear of nostalgia would salt her palate when she saw the strips of damp earth and the piles of mud that the earthworms had pushed up in the garden. Those secret tastes, defeated in the past by oranges and rhubarb, broke out into an irrepressible urge when she began to weep. She went back to eating earth. The first time she did it almost out of curiosity, sure that the bad taste would be the best cure for the temptation. And, in fact, she could not bear the earth in her mouth. But she persevered, overcome by the growing anxiety, and little by little she was getting back her ancestral appetite, the taste of primary minerals, the unbridled satisfaction of what was the original food. She would put handfuls of earth in her pockets, and ate them in small bits without being seen, with a confused feeling of pleasure and rage, as she instructed her girl friends in the most difficult needlepoint and spoke about other men, who did not deserve the sacrifice of having one eat the whitewash on the walls because of them. The handfuls of earth made the only man who deserved that show of degradation less remote and more certain, as if the ground that he walked on with his fine patent leather boots in another part of the world were transmitting to her the weight and the temperature of his blood in a mineral savor that left a harsh aftertaste in her mouth and a sediment of peace in her heart.” 
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“...memory is fragile and the space of a single life is brief, passing so quickly that we never get a chance to see the relationship between events; we cannot gauge the consequences of our acts, and we believe in the fiction of past, present, and future, but it may also be true that everything happens simultaneously.” Isabel Allende

"...being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over.." Octavia Butler

 

"I am caught in love's web so deceitful,

None of my endeavors turned fruitful,

I knew not when I rode the high blooded stead,

The harder I pulled its reins the less it would heed,

Love is an ocean with such a vast space,

No wise man can swim it in any place,

A true lover should be faithful till the end,

And face life's reproached trend,

When you see things hideous, fancy them neat,

Eat poison, but taste sugar sweet"

-Rabia Balkhi 

First Persian Poetess, born in Balkh. 

Murdered by her brother. 

Her last poem written on the bath wall in her own blood.