If it is not my portion to meet thee in this lifethen let me ever feel that I have missed thy sight---let me not forget for a moment,let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreamsand in my wakeful hours.As my days pass in the crowded market of this worldand my hands grow full with the daily profits,let me ever feel that I have gained nothing---let me not forget for a moment,let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreamsand in my wakeful hours.When I sit by the roadside, tired and panting,when I spread my bed low in the dust,let me ever feel that the long journey is still before me---let me not forget a moment,let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreamsand in my wakeful hours.When my rooms have been decked out and the flutes soundand the laughter there is loud,let me ever feel that I have not invited thee to my house---let me not forget for a moment,let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreamsand in my wakeful hours.
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In the quiet between heartbeats a whisper calls you home, you are not broken you are becoming. These threads of silence and sound are letters from the threshold, offerings from the edge of stillness. Nigel  TEA AND ZEN - MAIN LIBRARY



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