To be alone is to gaze upon a flower

to melt and merge into the preciousness of its rich color and sweet perfume…

Silence is not touched by experience....

Surrender is meek. It is the quiet whisper that’s been waiting in the shadows, not making any fuss, but simply — continuously — urging you onward…

Body sensations are the compass of our lives. There is nothing esoteric or transcendent about this embodied spirituality. In fact, it is so human and so deeply ordinary that I spent a great majority of my spiritual pursuit ignoring it. It doesn’t feel mystical or divine, but it is the truth…

West Virginia has been the biggest grace of my life. My solitary confinement. The biggest fear of every human being: no community, no friends, no distractions, no job, nowhere to turn, nowhere to hide from myself…

At first glance, she is dark and fearful. At first glance, she is gruesome, with her necklace of severed heads and belt of severed arms. But, for the first time, I really see her…

To everyone

who’s ever told me

I’m too much:

You were right.

True love is not a concept in the mind, no. The mind holds a concept of love, but it pales in comparison to the truth.

Do you gaze upon a mountain range and judge its wrinkles and crow’s feet? Do you behold an ancient tree, its branches twisted and knotted, and desire it to be more youthful?

You are a boomerang, which springs forth from the Absolute and returns to the Absolute.

Every moment is a death; an ending. Every word uttered flowers only once and is gone forever as soon as it passes your lips…

The I-thought is like a lighthouse…

A child sits alone in the dark; her very favorite thing.

Truth is like an aquifer, residing always beneath the earth’s surface, perpetually replenishing itself. And awakening is the process of digging a well, completely alone, by hand.

Human beings have become human doings. And in our doings, we hide. We are hiding from what is. Beneath every habit, beneath every relationship, lies some fear, some sadness, some personal responsibility, which we are running from. Which we are avoiding.

My ego is a pit of quicksand, which I stepped into long ago, when I was just a child. And there I’ve stayed, sinking…slowly.

Self is like a soap bubble, floating through the air. There is air within and air without…is it different air? In appearance, perhaps. But then the bubble pops, and there is only air.

In my house rests a trophy case: the place where I keep my most prized possession. But this possession, of course, is not static. No…

The silence which hung behind the desert pulled his voice through its emptiness, and it rang in my ears like the pure and innocent cry of a newborn babe, magnetizing me, captivating me, urging me onward…