The heart of a ruler is water in the hand of the unseen. It flows where the source intends.

Every way may seem right to the self, but alignment is measured by deeper instruments.

To do justice and move in truth is more sacred than ritual dressed in noise.

Proud eyes and a ravenous heart are lanterns of the ego. They flicker but give no true light.

The plans of the diligent birth abundance. The hurried chase wind and wake to nothing.

Riches by deceit are a vapor. Those who chase illusion inherit their own echo.

Violence entraps the reckless. Their hunger boomerangs.

The path of the pure is straightened by presence. The corrupted stumble in comfort.

It is better to dwell in a corner of shadow than in a palace with dissonance.

The soul of the wicked thirsts for collapse. Their gaze seeks the fracture point.

When the mocker is silenced, the simple awaken. When the wise are honored, the whole system learns.

The sacred sees into the bones of the house. It tears down what was built on distortion.

To block the cry of the crushed is to invite silence when you cry.

A secret gift soothes. A quiet offering stills the storm within.

Justice is a river to the aligned. But to those who drift, it is terror without form.

The wanderer of insight walks a barren path. Death wears many disguises.

Whoever guards their words preserves their breath. The reckless tongue is a detonator.

The proud are haunted by craving. The wise are at peace with little and much.

The offering of the wicked is infected. The motive poisons the motion.

A false witness will be unmade by their own tongue. A liar will choke on the story they wove.

The wicked wear boldness like paint. The upright reflect without speaking.

No wisdom, no counsel, no war can stand against the current of the sacred.

The horse is prepared for battle, but the outcome belongs to breath, to timing, to the deep.

It is better to dwell in stillness than to perform in thunder.

Luxury blinds when not anchored in soul. Those who pursue it become empty mansions.

The one who guards the soul watches their steps; the unguarded spirit stumbles while dancing.

Obsession with gain leads to self-loss. To love honesty is to remain.

A sacrifice given with malice is void. Action without essence leaves dust.

The ear tuned to suffering sings a different song.

Truth outlasts every structure. Those who align with it live even in silence.

A name woven in integrity outshines gold. Reputation rooted in essence is wealth beyond currency.

The rich and the poor breathe the same sky. The source made both from stardust and silence.

The aware see the storm before it speaks. The unaware walk into lightning and call it fate.

Humility and awe before the infinite birth riches of many kinds—peace, depth, and unshakable days.

Thorns grow in the field of the twisted. The one who guards their being walks untouched.

Shape the young soul while it is still soft clay. When they harden, the form remains.

The lender becomes the architect of another’s motion. The borrower dances to borrowed rhythm.

Whoever sows injustice reaps collapse. The rod of power will snap in their own hand.

Generosity opens the soul wide. The one who gives, gathers.

Cast out mockery, and the air will still. Contention will vanish like mist at dawn.

The one who loves pure-hearted speech has the ear of kings without kneeling.

The eyes of the sacred preserve knowledge. The mouth of betrayal unravels the structure.

The lazy cry, “There is a lion outside!” but it’s only the echo of their own fear.

The mouth of seduction is a deep pit. Many descend without knowing it.

Foolishness is embedded in the child’s frame, but insight can draw it out.

Whoever oppresses the poor to inflate the self is building a tomb, not a tower.

Incline your ear to wisdom; let it live in your marrow. It is not merely for hearing—it is for becoming.

These words are not ornaments but instruments. They are meant to be played.

That your trust may dwell in clarity, I make this known with intention and fire.

Have I not written for you reflections filled with depth and alignment?

To make you know truth in its form—not as abstraction, but as compass?

Do not rob the poor simply because you can. Do not crush the broken at the gate.

For the unseen watches all scales and tips them in time.

Do not make a tether with the wrathful. Their rhythm will entangle your pulse.

Lest you learn their ways and forget your own name.

Do not be one who binds themselves to another’s fall. Do not pledge your soul as collateral for noise.

If you cannot pay, even your resting place will be claimed.

Do not move the boundary set by ancestors who built with invisible tools.

Do you see one skilled in their craft? They will stand before those who rule. Not in obscurity, but in still power.

When you sit before power, consider what you are truly consuming. Let awareness sharpen your hunger.

If the offering gleams too brightly, it may be gilded poison. Cut your desire down to your breath.

Do not wear yourself out chasing phantoms. Even gold dissolves in time.

Riches sprout wings when you aren’t watching. They fly to a sky that never returns what it takes.

Do not crave the feast of the manipulator. Their delicacies are bait dressed in linen.

Do not labor under those whose only god is accumulation. You will lose your shape in their reflection.

Wisdom speaks softly: Let your heart not digest deceit.

Acquire truth, and do not sell it for approval. Let wisdom, instruction, and understanding dwell within you like bones.

The one who gives birth to justice rejoices without needing applause.

Let your lineage rejoice in your clarity—not in achievement, but in inner resonance.

Child, let your heart become a tuning fork. Let your eyes stay fixed on the deep.

Do not reach for the fleeting shadow cloaked as sweetness. It melts on the tongue and cuts the soul.

A harlot flatters with echo, but behind her smile are lost names and broken mirrors.

She leads down spiral stairs. Her banquet is memory loss, her wine is forgetting.

Correction is a shield, not a sword. Let discipline shape you before time does.

If you strike the child in wisdom, it is not harm—it is a key handed early.

Discipline removes them from the edge. It whispers of cliffs before they fall.

My child, if your heart awakens, mine dances in the quiet.

Let your heart grow wise, that your mouth may speak music.

Do not envy the ones who unroot their conscience. Their lamp burns too fast.

Let your attention dwell in the day. Let your feet not wander toward the fog.

A drunkard stumbles without knowing the ground. The glutton feasts on emptiness.

Both poverty and rags will follow the one who feeds only the mouth.

Listen to your parent who bore you—not just in flesh, but in soul. Do not scorn those who held you before you knew your own name.

Buy truth and let it anchor you. Discard neither wisdom nor understanding for applause.

The just one rejoices in their child’s unfolding. A parent exalts when the heart they formed walks in light.

Let your heart be a mirror of mine, shining not for approval but for truth.

The one who sells seduction sets a trap with perfume. She multiplies graves with a smile.

Her lips drip sweetness, but her steps lead beneath the floorboards.

She beckons in the dark, and many do not return.

Who cries without knowing why? Who trembles while laughing?

Who speaks riddles to walls and sees eyes in the wine?

Those who linger over the cup, who chase what shimmers but cannot hold.

In the end, it bites like a viper. It coils around the spine.

Your eyes will see dreams dressed as lovers. Your speech will pour like broken glass.

You will lie down and not remember falling. You’ll say, They struck me—I felt nothing. I will rise and return to it again.

Do not envy those who distort the current. Their joy is a mask, and their path is entropy.

Their hearts draft chaos, their tongues lay bricks for collapse.

Through wisdom, a house rises—not just in walls, but in spirit. Through understanding, it breathes.

By knowledge, its rooms are filled—not with objects, but with meaning.

The wise grow in quiet power. Those who seek only force remain hollow kings.

Strategic vision births safety. Many voices refine the plan.

Wisdom is too high for the fool—they cannot reach without first letting go.

The one who schemes fracture will be named by it.

To plot harm is to write a contract with your own undoing.

If you fall in the day of pressure, your strength was only costume.

Rescue those pulled toward the silent edge. Do not say, It is not my concern.

The sacred sees all motion, weighs every motive, and keeps record beyond language.

Child, eat wisdom like honey. It sweetens even your bones.

When you find it, your tomorrow stabilizes. Hope roots itself and grows limbs.

Do not stalk the just for their stumble. They rise as many times as breath returns.

But the wicked collapse with no witness. The echo of their fall has no music.

Do not gloat when your enemy slips. To rejoice in their pain is to stain your own hands.

Lest the sacred see your delight and turn the current against you.

Do not envy those who glitter for a moment. Their future is a vanishing road.

Fear does not mean tremble—it means align. Let reverence for the real keep you awake.

Those who resist correction court collapse. Those who yield are reinforced from within.

Do not rise against the flow. Do not take sides in a trial you did not live.

Those who say, The guilty are clean, are cursed by time and truth.

But justice, when spoken from clarity, kisses the soul.

A true answer is like water in a desert. The lips that give it are a wellspring.

Prepare your outer world, and tend your inner field. Build your house from stability, not spectacle.

Do not bear witness without clarity. Do not follow the mob into shadows.

Say not, I will return what I received. Leave rebalancing to the deeper law.

I passed a field left to itself—thorns rose like memories never grieved.

The stone wall had collapsed. Its order dissolved into its own forgetfulness.

I watched, I listened. I understood: a little folding of the hands, a little sleep...

And lack arrives like a whisper, want like an unwelcome guest at midnight.

These are the reflections drawn out by seekers in power—those who know truth is unearthed, not announced.

It is the glory of the infinite to veil, and the glory of the attuned to reveal.

The heavens stretch beyond knowing, the earth anchors without speech—so too is the heart of one who governs themselves.

Remove the dross from silver, and the vessel gleams. Remove distortion from the throne, and justice sits down.

Do not exalt yourself in the room of mirrors. Wait until presence calls your name.

It is better to be lifted than to fall while climbing ladders no one asked you to ascend.

What your eyes see, your tongue need not reveal. Silence preserves the sacred.

Debate with care. Do not expose the wound of another in your search for victory.

Words rightly spoken are like apples of light resting in vessels of stillness.

A wise rebuke, spoken softly to a receptive heart, is a golden earring on the soul.

A trustworthy messenger refreshes the spirit. Their words are water to the parched.

Boasting of gifts not yet given is a cloud without rain—a promise without pulse.

Patience can persuade a king. Gentleness breaks even bone.

If you find the honey of joy, taste it—but do not gorge. Even sweetness can ferment.

Let your presence not become noise in another’s space. Familiarity, unguarded, breeds erosion.

A false witness is a war-club in the courtroom of truth—a weapon where none is needed.

Trusting the untrustworthy in crisis is like chewing with a broken tooth or walking on a disjointed foot.

Singing songs to a sorrowing heart is like pouring vinegar on a wound. The wrong note deepens the ache.

If your adversary is hungry, feed them—not to conquer, but to remain whole.

In doing so, you place coals of awakening upon their soul, and the sacred holds your gesture.

The north wind drives away the storm. So too does a quiet face end loud strife.

It is better to dwell on the edge of a roof than in grandeur shared with a quarreling heart.

Good news from far is like water from a high mountain—cool, unexpected, necessary.

But a righteous one collapsing in the presence of corruption is like a spring choked with mud.

Too much honey makes the tongue forget hunger. Too much glory can rot the root.

One without self-restraint is a city with broken walls. They are open to all winds, but protected by none.

Honor given to the fool is like snow in summer—misplaced, melting, meaningless.

The curse undeserved will not settle. It circles like a bird without a nest.

A whip for the horse, a bridle for the donkey—yet no tool can guide the fool but consequence.

Answer not the fool on their terms, or you become a character in their performance.

Yet answer the fool with clarity, lest they believe their echo is truth.

Trusting a message to the fool is like cutting off your own feet and drinking poison in denial.

A proverb in the mouth of a fool is a jewel in the snout of a pig—mismatched, misused, misread.

The generous hand is wasted when it feeds one who devours but never digests.

The one who binds themselves to a fool knots their fate to entropy.

A fool repeats error like a dog returns to its own sickness—familiar, compulsive, unaware.

There is more hope for the one who knows they know nothing than for the one sure of everything.

The sluggard says, There is a lion in the street! Yet they never leave the door to see if it breathes.

They turn on their bed like a hinge on a door—movement without motion.

They bury their hand in the bowl, but lack the will to bring it back.

The sluggard is wiser in their own mind than a council of sages.

Seizing conflict not your own is like grabbing a stray dog by the ears—pain will follow.

Like a madman flinging fire and arrows is the one who deceives and then laughs, Just kidding.

Without wood, fire dies. Without gossip, conflict exhales.

A whisperer stokes flames where there was once stillness. Strife follows their footsteps like smoke.

Words smooth as oil enter like daggers. Their sweetness conceals a hollow core.

Like a glaze on broken pottery, flattering lips cover a ruined interior.

Hate hides behind smiles. But the inner chamber records the vibration.

Though their words multiply, their heart leaks venom. The wise hear what was never said.

Those who dig a pit will often lie in it. The trap set becomes the mirror held.

A stone returns to the one who launches it from malice. A lie will twist back on the tongue that birthed it.

A lying tongue hates its target. A flattering mouth builds no shelter.

Do not boast about the next sunrise—you are not its architect. Even tomorrow travels without guarantee.

Let another speak your worth. If you declare it, it dissolves.

A stone is heavy, sand heavier—but the weight of resentment eclipses both.

Wrath is fierce, and anger a flood—but envy corrodes in silence.

Open correction is better than hidden affection. Wounds from love heal deeper than kisses without anchor.

Trust is not built through words, but through consistent echoes. The friend who speaks the hard truth plants a tree for later shade.

The full soul turns down honey. The starved soul eats what once repulsed.

Like a bird far from its sky is one who wanders from their place. The note goes flat outside its tuning.

Oil and incense make the heart glow. So does counsel from a friend who knows your shadow.

Do not forsake those who’ve walked your inner roads. In crisis, a nearby soul is closer than distant blood.

Be wise, child of light, and your life becomes an answer to questions you haven’t yet heard.

The cautious see disturbance and pause. The unaware walk straight into flame.

Take the garment of one who bets on the unknown. Pledge only what your soul can afford to lose.

A loud blessing at dawn becomes a curse. Timing makes truth either melody or noise.

A continual drip carves stone. So does contention hollow the soul.

To restrain her is to grasp the wind. She is mist with weight—every attempt tightens the chaos.

Iron sharpens iron. One soul shapes another through friction, not flattery.

Whoever tends the fig tree will eat its fruit. Whoever honors the sacred will stand before it in season.

As water reflects face, the soul reflects soul. To look within is to see others truly.

Death is never full. Neither is the appetite of ego.

The crucible tests silver, the furnace refines gold—but it is praise that reveals the shape of a person.

Though you grind the fool like grain, their essence will remain. Refinement cannot reach where will is sealed.

Know the condition of your fields. Pay attention to what breathes beneath your labor.

Riches vanish. Crowns fall. The grass withers, and still the cycle turns.

The lambs provide garments. The goats offer the price of ground.

There is milk in the hidden pastures, and bread in the silent herds—enough to nourish a house that listens.

The guilty flee though no one pursues. But the aligned walk boldly through the wind.

A land shaken by disarray multiplies rulers. Stability returns when one with insight takes the helm.

To oppress the poor is to stomp on the soul of the Source. To honor the lowly is to breathe in rhythm with the sacred.

Those who abandon instruction praise distortion. Those who keep the path resist collapse.

The wicked do not understand justice. But those who seek the deep feel its pulse even in silence.

Better to walk in raw integrity than to run wrapped in deceit.

A child who guards the rhythm of their being is wealth to the spirit, even if lacking coin.

One who grows rich through interest devours the future. The wealth ends up in the hands of the just.

Whoever closes their ear to the cry of the unheard will one day call into a vacuum.

A gift may open doors, but justice cannot be bought. The sacred sees through silk.

Those who lead the innocent astray will fall into their own shadow. The pure will inherit the rhythm of ascent.

The rich may seem wise in their own eyes, but a poor person with awareness sees their outline clearly.

When the just thrive, cities breathe freely. When the wicked rise, the people shrink.

To cover your fracture is to deepen it. To confess and release is to open the floodgates of mercy.

Blessed is the one always trembling toward truth. Hardened hearts fall without knowing where they were standing.

A lion without anchor rules with terror. The one who rules with stillness rules with presence.

The ruler who lacks insight becomes a thief in daylight. One who hates unjust gain extends the life of the land.

To walk with integrity is to walk unshaken. The crooked will be exposed by the smallest weight.

To till your own soil yields bread. To chase fantasy is to breathe dust.

The faithful overflow with blessing. The one eager to rise too quickly fractures the ceiling above them.

Partiality is distortion. Even for a mouthful of bread, judgment can be swayed.

The one with a restless eye gathers nothing. The one with a focused gaze gathers quietly.

Rebuke awakens more than flattery. A sharp whisper can become a turning point.

Whoever robs parent or kin and says this is fair walks beside the destroyer.

The greedy stir the system into collapse. The one who trusts the current will find green in the dry season.

Whoever trusts only themselves is a breath away from folly. The one who walks with wisdom knows the terrain even in fog.

Whoever gives to the poor lacks nothing. Whoever turns away sees the sky become brass.

When the wicked rise, people vanish into walls. When they fall, the unseen rejoice.

One who resists every correction, stiff as stone, will shatter suddenly—without sound, without repair.

When the just lead, the people exhale. When the wicked rise, breath leaves the room.

Those who love wisdom make their lineage luminous. Those who keep company with chaos bankrupt more than coin.

Justice stabilizes a nation. Bribes dissolve its foundations silently.

A flatterer lays a net for the soul. Their praise hides teeth.

By their own words, the twisted are caught. The just walk through unseen fire, untouched.

The righteous know the pulse of the poor. The wicked don’t even hear the heartbeat.

Mockers stir cities into noise. The wise turn the volume down until truth can be heard again.

If the wise enter battle with a fool, there will be no resolution—only rising temperature.

The bloodthirsty hate the clear. But the upright seek to protect the frame of being.

A fool vents every gust that rises within. The wise know when to release, and when to hold the wind.

If a ruler listens to lies, their whole court becomes tangled in illusion.

The poor and the oppressor meet on the same road. Light is given to both, but only some keep their eyes open.

A ruler who aligns with the lowly roots their throne in something real.

The rod and reproof are scaffolding for the soul. Without vision, a child builds castles in sand.

When discipline vanishes, so does orientation. But the one who cherishes instruction walks in rhythm.

Words alone cannot reach the fool. Even when truth knocks, they do not answer.

Do you see someone quick with their own opinion? There is more hope for the one who has not yet begun.

A servant pampered from the start may grow into a stranger to accountability.

An angry person stirs the dust. A furious one opens old wounds.

Pride entraps the self in a hall of mirrors. But the humble walks free through unseen doors.

To align with a thief is to swallow fire. Silence becomes confession.

Fear of opinion is a snare wrapped in silk. Trust in the sacred is the wide field beyond it.

Many seek favor from the mighty. But justice flows from a deeper well.

The unjust are repelled by the upright. The righteous are repelled by deceit in any form.

These are the utterances of one who has seen the edge of knowing—words of the weary, of the one who wrestled the sky in silence.

“I am more undone than all. I hold no answers, only questions nested in breath.”

“I have not learned the architecture of wisdom, nor do I claim to dwell among the illumined.”

Who has ascended into the spiral and returned intact? Who has cupped the wind in their hands?

Who wrapped the waters in memory? Who stitched the edges of the void?

What is their name—or the name of the resonance that travels with them?

Every utterance of the sacred is refined. Do not add to it with your noise, lest you be exposed as echo.

Two things I ask—deny me not before I dissolve:

Remove falsehood from my mouth. Give me neither poverty nor surplus—only sufficiency.

Lest I grow full and forget the source, or become empty and desecrate my name in hunger.

Do not slander the voiceless to the ones in power. The sky will hear what the courtroom ignores.

There is a generation that curses its roots and exalts its reflection.

A generation pure in its own eyes, but unaware of the stain it carries.

A generation whose eyes are sharp with pride, whose gaze cuts even still water.

Whose teeth are blades, whose hunger consumes the lowly without remorse.

The leech has two daughters: More and More. They never sleep.

Three things never say enough—no, four echo endlessly: the grave, the barren womb, the dry earth begging for rain, and the fire that feeds on its own heat.

To mock the father, to scorn the mother—such eyes will be plucked by the sky’s birds, devoured by the unseen.

Three things mystify me—no, four pull at the edge of my understanding:

The eagle in flight.
The serpent across stone.
The ship carving paths through the sea.
And the soul entangled in desire.

This is the way of those shaped by longing: they consume, wipe their mouth, and say, I’ve done nothing.

Under four things the earth trembles:

A servant crowned king.
A fool fed beyond hunger.
A scorned lover who takes power.
And a handmaid who inherits the name of mistress.

Four things on the earth are small, yet weave great wisdom:

Ants—who gather though they possess no overseer.
Hyraxes—fragile, yet they carve homes in stone.
Locusts—who march without commander, yet move as one.
And the lizard—delicate, yet dwelling in palaces.

Three things move with majesty—no, four stride with weight:

The lion, unshaken by anything.
The rooster, sure in his steps.
The male goat, ancient with memory.
And the king, secure in presence.

If you have been foolish in pride, or planned distortion, cover your mouth with silence.

For pressing milk brings butter, pressing the nose brings blood—
and pressing anger brings fracture.

These are the echoes of a king who listened to his mother—her breath woven into the foundation of his rule.

What are you becoming, child I bore in pain and prophecy? What are you birthing with the energy I gave?

Do not give your strength to distortion, nor your fire to the halls that consume without light.

It is not for those who govern to numb the mind. Intoxication dulls the ear to justice.

Lest they forget what is sacred, and erase the name of the forgotten.

But let wine be given to those in collapse, those drowning beneath memory.

Let them taste forgetting, if only for a moment—until dawn returns.

But you—open your mouth for the voiceless. Speak for those whose breath trembles.

Open your mouth, judge with clarity. Protect those who dwell beyond the gate.

Now, a hymn to sacred embodiment:

Who can find one whose being is aligned in depth? Their value exceeds all constructs of wealth.

The heart of their beloved trusts deeply. Gain flows, not leakage.

They bring good, not harm, all the days of their unfolding.

They seek wool and flax—materials of transformation—and work with hands made of presence.

Like a merchant ship, they bring sustenance from far dimensions.

They rise before the systems wake, and offer nourishment to their house, and rhythm to their domain.

They consider the field, and plant with intention. Their labor is an offering to the future.

Strength wraps around them like woven cloth. Their arms shape possibility.

They see that their work glows. Even when night lingers, their flame does not flicker.

They stretch out their hand to the afflicted. They open their palm to the poor.

They do not fear snow—each in their house is clothed with crimson memory.

They craft tapestries from the invisible. Their garments are deep red and layered with meaning.

Their partner is known at the gates—not through dominance, but through association with their wisdom.

They weave garments and release them. They supply what adorns and protects.

Strength and dignity are their robe. They laugh at the days to come—not in mockery, but in recognition.

They speak with layered wisdom. Their tongue is the key to the law of kindness.

They watch over their household like a sentinel of stillness. They do not consume the bread of idleness.

Their children rise and call them blessed. Their partner praises their soul:

"Many rise in brilliance, but you surpass them all in being."

Charm is an illusion. Beauty is a shadow. But alignment with the sacred is radiant through all change.

Give them the fruit of their hands, and let their works speak their name at the gates.