When the prayer makers thought of the soul as a garden, they liked to picture in it the Creator setting a breeze into motion and the flowers of the soul to dancing. On a gray morning or a dark night, in late autumn or in barren years as much as in brighter times, the imagination of such dancing signals that divine activity is all around us, only waiting to be recognized. May the prayer and the dreams that goodness might displace everything that is flawed in the soul come to be realized for another dancing day.
And one day, when I need
to tell myself something intelligent
about love,
I'll close my eyes
and recall this room and everything in it...
to tell myself something intelligent
about love,
I'll close my eyes
and recall this room and everything in it...