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Some Keep the Sabbath Going to Church - Emily Dickinson

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 Some keep the Sabbath going to church - I keep it, staying at Home - With a Bobolink for a Chorister - And an Orchard, for a Dome -  Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice - I just wear my Wings -  And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church, Our little Sexton - sings.  God preaches, a noted Clergyman -  And the sermon is never long, So instead of getting to Heaven, at last -  I'm going, all along.

In Our Souls - Antonio Machado

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 In our souls everything moves guided by a mysterious hand. We know nothing of our souls that are ununderstandable and say nothing. The deepest words of the wise man teach us the same as the whistle of the wind when it blows or the sound of the water when it is flowing.

I Walk - Rabbi Hillel

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 I walk, I fall down,  I get up. Meanwhile, I keep dancing.

Monk's Prayer - Bonnie Thurston

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 At the monastic center is always a cloister, an orchestrated emptiness, a place of light, a fountain to feed the heart's garden. Give me this life: a center empty of all but light, the stillness of Eden before fruit was plucked, my heart a spring of living water.

What Do We Know 6. (excerpt) - Mary Oliver

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 Rumi the poet was a scholar also. But Shams, his friend, was an angel. By which I don't mean anything patient or sweet. When I read how he took Rumi's books and threw them into the duck pond, I shouted for joy. Time to live now, Shams meant. I see him, turning away casually toward the road, Rumi following, the books floating and sinking among the screeching ducks, oh, beautiful book-eating pond!

Under the Temple - Mark Nepo

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 The temple hanging over the water is anchored on pillars that nameless workers placed in the mud long ago. So never forget that the mud and the hands of those workers are part of the temple, too. What frames the sacred is just as sacred. The dirt that packs the plant is the beginning of beauty. And those who haul the piano on stage are the beginning of music. And those who are stuck, though they dream of soaring, are the ancestors of our wings.

I Slept - Rabindraneth Tagore

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 I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and, behold, service was joy.