Why are the pistachios I shell one by one so much better tasting than pistachios already shelled?
When you do things from your soul you feel a river moving in you, a joy. When action come from another quarter, the feeling vanishes.
Why do I feel compelled to eat every last pistachio in the bag?
As you start to walk out on the way, the way appears.
If one unshelled pistachio falls into the bowl of shells, should I search for it?
I’m not asking for pistachio candy, but for your everlasting love. Fifty times I’ve said, “Heart, stop hunting and step into this net.”
What do you do with the ones that aren’t cracked open far enough to get your thumbnail in?
A secret freedom opens through a crevice you can barely see.
Do you throw them out the door for the birds?
All day I think about it, then at night I say it. Where did I come from, what am I supposed to be doing? I have no idea. My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that, and I intend to end up there.