For him who has completed the journey, for him who is sorrowless, for him who from everything is wholly free, for him who has destroyed all ties, the fever of passion exists not… He is like a pool, unsullied by mud; to such a balanced one, life’s wanderings do not arise. Calm is his mind, calm is his speech, calm is his action, who, rightly knowing, is wholly freed, perfectly peaceful and equipoised.
In the sky, there is no distinction of east and west; people create distinctions out of their own minds and then believe them to be true.
Where egoism exists, Thou are not experienced. Where Thou art, is not egoism. You who are learned, expound in your mind, this inexpressible proposition.
Summer set lip to earth’s bosom bare, and left the flushed print in a poppy there.
