--- Beautiful flowers are not for the faint of heart nor are they for the madman who lives his life apart. Constant worry is the norm of our days Endlessly burning our spirits away. How can we enjoy the beautiful flowers if we leave no space for joy? How can we drink of the great mother's milk when our own cup is full full to the brim of sludge, murky and dark? Better to empty our cups, and so have it full. Better yet to throw it away and through our roots draw up the sweet sap that nourishes...
