Bulstrode Soft shapes and slips in the landscape Speak of times long gone by. All the footsteps before you Discern a definite line, a course to follow. And, witness to the power and patronage of the past, This way leads us up and over, across the hillside, To a close kept garden, ages old. A garden of faith, a garden of trust freely given That...
Learn MoreYes, our blood is warm. It seeks, it goes forward. And it points to how in life The vapours of youth, of joy, Of piety and inspiration Pour forth like honey Only to melt away so quickly, Leaving their mark behind Many centuries later. And so, as I stand here In an almost impossibly verdant Fertile landscape, far from home, Blessed by the unfamiliar constant...
Learn MorePure, naked fragile hope. A gift from Tibet. Bare, old and worn. At first sight the crudest Humblest of objects, Fashioned to formulas long forgotten. But these are Bowls that sing! That guard within Their softly tended shadows Close-kept secrets That can speak to your soul. And the mystery is How their tone, their voice Grows stronger and clearer...
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