The word faith, freed from its burden of dogmas, implies a way of life imperceptibly chosen -- keenly instituted -- moment by moment. While it is often considered the first step on the path, it is also, as well, the last. In faith, we know that we belong, that we can never be separated from the inexhaustible well-spring from which we take our lives and our direction.
At a conference on the Iranian poet Hafez I attended recently, one of the older Persian speakers suddenly leaned forward to the audience and said, "Make your work The Face of the Beloved, and let what you create be her lashes, her mole, her lips." To do that would mean carrying all these gifts, letting the radiance of the World beyond the world shine into each cottage door you come to. Doing so requires both huge strength and the capacity for a kind of visible luminosity, an active principle that can only be born from a great stillness.