Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.

Brute force crushes many plants. Yet the plants rise again. The Pyramids will not last a moment compared with the daisy. And before Buddha or Jesus spoke the nightingale sang, and long after the words of Jesus and Buddha are gone into oblivion the nightingale still will sing. Because it is neither preaching nor commanding nor urging. It is just singing. And in the beginning it was not a Word, but a chirrup.

The living moment is everything.

What's that as flies without wings, your ladyship? Time! Time!