There was nothing in the Virgin's soul
that belonged to the Virgin --
no word, no thought, no image, not intent.
She was a pure, transparent pool reflecting
God, only God.
She held Love's burnished day; she held Love's night
of planet-glow on shade inscrutable.
God was her sky and she who mirrored God
became Love's firmament.
When I so much as turn my thoughts toward her
my spirit is enisled in her repose.
And when I gaze into her selfless depths
an anguish in me grows
to hold such blueness and to hold such fire.
I pray to hollow out my earth and be
filled with these waters of transparency.
I think that one could die of this desire,
seeing oneself dry earth or stubborn sod.
Oh, to become a pure pool like the Virgin,
water that lost the semblances of water
and was a sky like God.
When yonever again will your work be a burdenu can find something in your work that is in the nature of a service to be performed, . When you have found something into which you can put your heart and soul and you can pour out some measure of service, even if in the beginning it is the most menial of labors, it will lead you to the joy of expressing yourself. If your consciousness is filled with service and cooperation, then your activity regardless of its nature will express the service and cooperation in your consciousness, and it will be a steadily expanding and unfolding activity.