Countless minute suns

make up the galaxy that is a human body

and if the pattern goes awry

the center doesn't hold;

pattern and direction

turn at odds against design.

So shall we teach those suns to sing

again in measured harmony,

creating force of voices

sounding with a common goal?

Sing the blood, the flesh, the bones,

the very soul, to traverse their appointed paths

united in direction toward

realization of the will.

-- my friend Rae

'Back now to the servant who is writing
letters to the king to
protest how his food allotment
has been reduced. He thinks
he is writing in a calm and reasonable style, but the king
can hear the conceit and bitterness
inside the words. This body, your life, is a letter
to the king of the universe.

Go to a private place and open it and read to see if
the words are right. If they

aren't, start another! And don't think it's easy to open
the body and read the secret