I speak in many tongues to many men;
Argue with angels and I always win,
But I don’t know the first thing about love.

I prophesy and know all mysteries;
All hidden things are opened up to me
But I don’t know the first thing about love,
I don’t know the first thing about love.

I have the keys to open any door;
give all of my possessions to the poor,
But I don’t know the first thing about love

And moving mountains ain’t no thing to me;
I’ve faith enough to cast them to the sea,
But I don’t know the first thing about love,
I don’t know the first thing about love.

But all other things shall fade away;
While love stands alone and still holds sway,
All other things shall fade away;
Into the ground into the grey.

I give my body up unto the flames;
And never once have I denied your name
But I don’t know the first thing about love,
I don’t know the first thing about love,
I don’t know the first thing about love.

As human beings, we can truly wake up and evolve into a more conscious species.

…

We who live in the most powerful nation history has ever known must stop worrying so much about the outcome of soap operas, football games, quarterly balance sheets, and the daily Dow Jones averages, and must instead reevaluate who we are and where we want our children to end up. The alternative to stopping to ask ourselves the important questions is simply too dangerous.

How will we live to create? Will we be painters who cover up mistakes with a new stroke or different color to distract from the error? This is easier. It takes less time, and we don’t have to change the overall image for anyone to see.

…

But if we are to have vision, will we instead see others and even ourselves in the same way a sculptor sees marble - a sculptor who knows that she cannot just cover it up and put it all back together as if it was never fractured? Instead, she knows that to have it restored, she has to have insight for what it can wholly become - something different but ever faithful to its essence. It will never be what it was, for its nature is too rich to be patched up. But the eye of a sculptor looks into the form of the marble and knows that the guided chisel can shape it into something. Not as it was before, but uncompromisingly true to its essence, and lovely.