Standing on a street corner waiting for no one is Power.
I didn’t kill myself
when things went wrong
I didn’t turn
to drugs or teaching
I tried to sleep
but when I couldn’t sleep
I learned to write
I learned to write
what might be read
on nights like this
by one like me
Because all existence is founded upon the ever-present state of union, everything already exists in a state of tranquility. However, this state of tranquility is masked from us by our assumption that there is a separation, that there is a problem.
If a pickpocket meets a Holy Man, he will see only his pockets.
Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Life is but a dream.
Everyone is in the best seat.
People are never so free with themselves and so recklessly glad as when there is some possibility of commotion or calamity ahead.
The way to innocence, to the uncreated and to God, leads on, not back, not back to the wolf or to the child, but ever further into sin, ever deeper into human life.
He who knows nothing loves nothing. He who can do nothing understands nothing. He who understands nothing is worthless. But he who understands also loves, notices, sees. . . . The more knowledge is inherent in a thing, the greater the love . . . Anyone who imagines that all fruits ripen at the same time as the strawberries knows nothing about grapes.
What was it that I delighted in but to love and be loved? But I kept not the measure of love, of mind to mind, friendship’s bright boundary; but out of the muddy concupiscence of the flesh, and the bubblings of youth, mists fumed up which beclouded and overcast my heart, that I could not discern the clear brightness of love, from the fog of lustfulness.
It’s a bit hard to bullshit the ocean. It’s not listening, you know what I mean.
When we lay claim to the evil in ourselves, we no longer need fear its occurring outside of our control. For example, a patient comes into therapy complaining that he does not get along well with other people; somehow he always says the wrong thing and hurts their feelings. He is really a nice guy, just has this uncontrollable, neurotic problem. What he does not want to know is that his “unconscious hostility” is not his problem, it’s his solution. He is really not a nice guy who wants to be good; he’s a bastard who wants to hurt other people while still thinking of himself as a nice guy. If the therapist can guide him into the pit of his own ugly soul, then there may be hope for him. . . . Nothing about ourselves can be changed until it is first accepted.
Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.