O thou dweller in my heart,
Open it out, purify it, make it bright, beautiful,
Awaken it, prepare it, make it fearless,
Make it a blessing to others,
Rid it of laziness, free it from doubt,
Unite it with all, destroy its bondage,
Let thy peaceful music prevade all its works,
Make my heart fixed on thy holy feet
And make it full of you, full of joy, full of joy,.
If only he could work faster.Yet if he did work faster, how could he produce paintings grounded in deep beds of contemplation, the only way living things could be stilled long enough to understand them?And wasn't everything he painted--a breadbasket, a pitcher, a jewelry box, a copper pan--wasn’t it all living?