What else is there, really, other than a very sensual world. Eyes which see, heart that feels, hands which touch, that intelligence that beats the heart, keeps the stars and planets hanging in the sky, and keeps the flowers growing. This effort to somehow get to this intelligence is the pain of separation, from the Beloved, when in reality who we are is only the Beloved, has only ever been, could only ever be. (from Sounds True)
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