You stay up all night, opening books looking for explanations and justifications.

You sit in leaky boats, in the middle of a flood, arguing who has the better oars!

Poorna* says: Don't stay in dark tarvens, moaning about error. Walk into a cathedral of trees. Get drunk on light's grace!

Poorna* - One who is complete, like the full moon. It was also the name of my great grandfather, a mystic and a poet.

Use the sickle of longing To reap stalks heavy with desire.

Let the grindstone of practice Turn you into a sack of flour.

Load the ovens of love with dough And make thousands of loaves.

Invite the city for a feast. Give away Everything you possess. Go hungry.

Poorna says: Only when the ego is emptied, Does one hear cosmic beat of the inner drum!