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.
This Self who gives rise to all works, all desires, all odours, all tastes, who pervades the universe, who is beyond words, who is joy abiding, who is ever present in my heart, is Brahmn indeed. To him I shall attain when my ego dies.
Don’t confuse the teacher with the lesson, the ritual with the ecstasy, the transmitter of the symbol with the symbol itself.
Crime and punishment grow out of one stem. Punishment is a fruit that, unsuspected, ripens with the flower of the pleasure that concealed it.
A woman is the full circle. Within her is the power to create, nurture and transform.
