Prayer is that divine seed whose roots draw food from earthly existence. Like the lotus flower that does not bloom in arable ground but in marshes, prayer thrusts its roots into human misery as if into mud. But the lotus flower does not show any trace of the muddy water from which it drew life; turned toward the sky, it blooms.
In the hollows of quiet places
we may meet,
the quiet places where is neither
moon nor sun,
but only the light of amber and
pale gold
that comes from the Hills of
the Heart.