In thinking, “This is I” and “That is mine”, he binds himself with his self, as does a bird with a snare.
The Self, having in dreams enjoyed the pleasures of sense, gone hither and thither, experienced good and evil, hastens back to the state of waking from which he started. As a man passes from dream to wakefulness, so does he pass from this life to the next.
Any caterpillar who tried to “know himself” would never become a butterfly.
Service without ideal of self…trains you to transcend all the artificial distinctions imposed by history and geography, and to realise that the human community is one and indivisible.
If you wish to be free, know you are the Self, the witness of all these, the heart of awareness. Set your body aside, sit in your own awareness. You will at once be happy, forever still, forever free.
At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine. Breathe into me. Close the language-door, and open the love-window. The moon won’t use the door, only the window.
That the birds of worry and care fly over your head, this you cannot change, but that they build nests in your hair, this you can prevent.
The great, unborn Self is undecaying, immortal, undying, fearless, infinite.
