In the pouring forth of wisdom
all things have their being;
wisdom in my shining,
wisdom beyond me shining.
All things are branches
of the Tree of wisdom
wisdom in me growing,
wisdom beyond me growing.
In the circle of being
all things share a blessing;
wisdom in me turning,
wisdom beyond me turning.
Corbett sat there, looking up at me. His tears had dried and his quiet smile said everything words could not. Words? We had come for his gift of words. There was so much we wanted to hear, so much he could tell us. But words were something irrelevant now. A deeper communication was taking place. He had given us the blessing of his presence, and no greater gift can be imagined.