"Listen to me as one listens to the rain, not attentive not distracted, light footsteps thin drizzle,
water that is air, air that is time... figurations of mist at the turn of the corner, figurations of time at the bend in this pause,
listen to me as one listens to the rain, without listening hear what I say with eyes open inward, asleep with all five senses awake, its raining , light footsteps... a murmur of syllables, air and water, words with no weight: what we were and are, the days and years , this moment, weightless time and heavy sorrow... your fingers of air open eyelids of time, a spring of visions and resurrections..."
Excerpt from , A Tree Within by Octavio Paz
"It is mere idle maya, the play of clouds, casting away the mind's desire to the winds. It is merely the weaving and snapping of wreaths, A moments laughter and cry ending in a song. all day long with the sunshine on the green leaves The flowers with their own shadows play; This is also playing with shadows in the summer wind. Losing my way wittingly in the land of wizardry I wander thoughtlessly about the livelong day; Anywhere I gather flowers to give to someone, In the evening they droop and are scattered in the wood. Absent -minded I sing, some one hears or not hears, Some one may remember, some one may draw nigh."
- "The Making of Songs", Rabindranath Tagore
