| Sometimes simplicity rises like a blossom of fire
 from the white silk of your own skin.
 
 You were there in the beginning
 you heard the story, you heard the merciless
 and tender words telling you where you had to go.
 
 Exile is never easy and the journey
 itself leaves a bitter taste. But then,
 when you heard that voice, you had to go.
 
 You couldn't sit by the fire, you couldn't live
 so close to the live flame of that compassion
 you had to go out in the world and make it your own
 
 so you could come back with
 that flame in your voice, saying listen...
 this warmth, this unbearable light, this fearful love...
 
 It is all here,
 it is all here....
 
 
 ~ David Whyte
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