No man is his costume; it is only what he wears to the dance.

We are the instruments of genius, yet more the rhythm and less the drum as each expanding beat arises.

What I know is nothing but that we are a spring path of autumn light carved into a river of ancient singing.

There is a time when the soul closes its eyes and kneels before its own divinity; and a time when it rises and looks out in wonder at the beauty of the world.

That we do not know is beautiful; that we want to know is the reason for the journey; that we will know is certain—as certain as starlight; as certain as sky; as certain as the path of songs beneath our feet.

What whispers from the center of the soul is an innocence—so loving, so pure, so divine—that the sage bows and the wise man weeps at the sound of its soft singing.

That we do not know is beautiful; that we want to know is the reason for the journey; that we will know is certain— As certain as starlight; as certain as sky; as certain as the path of songs beneath our feet.

Those who lead us to our sacred selves walk not before us, but beside.

Celebrate one soul, touch one heart, light one lamp; and the whole universe moves.