For which of you desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it?
O soul, you worry too much. You have seen your own strength. You have seen your own beauty. You have seen your golden wings. Of anything less, why do you worry? You are in truth the soul, of the soul, of the soul.
Meditating on the lotus of your heart, in the centre is the untainted, the exquisitely pure, clear and sorrowless, the inconceivable, the unmanifest, of infinite form, blissful, tranquil, immortal, the womb of Brahma.
Was there ever a more horrible blasphemy than the statement that all the knowledge of God is confined to this or that book?