76. Teach Me to Abhor Flies of Sarcasm, Which Sit On the Wounds of Others

The bee of silence has made its way to the garden of my heart, where murmuring thought-towers hold out fragrant bouquets: lilies of discrimination, butter‐cups of recipient prayers, chrysanthemums of soul‐rays, and violet‐dreams of love‐offerings to Thee.

There, in my heart’s bed of many flowers fanned by the sweet breeze of my love, where the fresh dew of Thy grace hides at the core of every flowering good quality, my eager mind‐bee hovers in anticipation above these treasures of Thy love.

O, teach me to abhor the flies of cruel sarcasm, which love to sit on the wounds of others, and thereby swell their troubles. Let me be a kind, friendly bee “robbing” only sweetness from the flower-hearts of all.

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77. Demand for Seeing the One Fire Beneath All Soul-Flames