“Can you imagine a longing which is not for victory
but the face of night, where the moon is aching to light the sky?
What if a real thirst is not for the prize to be won,
but for the song of night,
when lovers whisper to one another's ears?
What if, it is a longing for a language
that the rivers speak to the sea?
What if, joy is not in the conquest
but in the quiet unfolding of a greater mystery?
What if, a desire is not for the pleasures,
but for knowing, how flowers give more of them,
emptying them of every scent,
only to be filled with the joy of giving?
What if, the only longing is to know
how waves come home to the shores,
and write the story of the sea?
How lovers rest in one another's eyes,
to melt in the gaze of eternity?”