My hand has its own eye. My foot has its own eye. My heart has its own eye. My throat has its own eye. My eye has its own eye.
Eyes, eyes everywhere you look. When you look inwardly out. When you see how feeling sees, how dancing moves, how beats blink, how voices envision the path, how the eye can never see itself, not truly. Only the eye of the Spirit can see its truth.
Anarcho-spiritual discourses and upbuilding speeches 