You are an aperture through which the universe is looking at and exploring itself.
Whether you take the doughnut hole as a blank space or as an entity unto itself is a purely metaphysical question and does not affect the taste of the doughnut one bit.
You dream of a new world to come, a new world to be birthed, a new dream to be dreamt. In the dream, a flower grows, a lotus from which the creator and the creation will unfold. From which light will begin to shine upon this vast dark sea, unveiling all the magic sleeping within. From this flower, infinite worlds and universes will be born. Each will contain a seed of light. And these seeds will light the heavens for all to guide their journeys by.
Feet sandaled with dreams tread paths of vision leading to wisdom’s sharp peaks.
Alchemy, the masters teach, is the process of linking the spiritual to the material. The alchemist is the bridge between the worlds. It is a process of working inside a mirror, knowing always that in the end, the part will reflect the whole. As inside, so outside.
You move into the darkness, wrapping it around you like a heavy cloak. You dive into it naked like a midnight swim, slip beneath its covers and invite it to envelope you, as a dream. You lose yourself in the richness of its mysteries. You start to become the darkness. It starts to become you.
To be human is to be whole, but to fail to see this wholeness.
Fire is the voice of god, speaking in tongues. Fire is the liberator of water, slipping the earthly bonds. Fire is the memory of stone, being released to the heavens. Fire is the mother of the Earth, born of desire. Fire is the seducer of wind, dancing in abandon for its beloved. Fire is the illuminator, the protector, the destroyer, and the giver of all life.
The ears are the eyes of the dark, as the stars are the eyes of the night sky.
Holding onto misery only brings more misery into focus. All possibilities exist. But the mind has only room for one thing at a time.
We think our world into being.
Life must be taken a step at a time. All else is madness.
The echo is a gift, passed on to us by our ancestors many ages ago, to remind us of ourselves. To confirm our existence. To remedy our loneliness. Though we must be still in order to hear it.
Prometheus stole fire from the gods. We are each the heirs of that divine spark. Used wisely, the spark fuels one's journey and lights the way. Treated carelessly, the spark consumes its owner and everything in its path.
Every answer can be followed by another question.
The monk wakes from a dream into a world of mists and thunderclouds. The clouds play children's games with him. They show him dissolving images of yaks and sheep, serpents and hawks, angels and dragons. He closes his eyes and the clouds count to ten. He opens his eyes and they look for him.
The world is as big as our ideas of it.
A word is a bridge. It is a wave of light and sound that spans the perceived distance between one thing and another.
In the beginning was the word. And the word was split into infinity. All words, then, are part of the whole. Just as we are each part of the whole. There are individual words, as we are individual beings. Each word carries with it the memory of the whole logos. Just as we each carry the memory of the whole universe.
The moon speaks in slivers and halves.