To expostulate what majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night night, and time is time, Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)

To expostulate what majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night night, and time is time, Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
Each of the four seasons, their countless stages, all the actors appearing there: clouds, rain, earth, grasses, sunlight, trees, fruit, seeds, winds, and dancing leaves — all serve to reveal a great, silent, and unseen story called “Letting Go.” This story is a mysterious one, for it is played out upon a stage that is itself contained within a greater […]
Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself. Leo Tolstoy (1828 – 1910)
October is an amazing month. Right now, in the northern hemisphere autumn is in full swing and you can feel the urgency of change almost as a vibration in the air. Change is all around us. You wake up in the morning and it’s cold and almost a bit frosty; but by late afternoon it’s sunny and hot and people […]
Let observation with extensive view, Survey mankind, from China to Peru; Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, And watch the busy scenes of crowded life; Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate, O’erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate, Where wav’ring man, betray’d by vent’rous pride To tread the dreary paths without a guide, As treach’rous […]
Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer. Simone Weil (1909 – 1943)
The most commonplace truth when it floods the whole soul, is like a revelation. Simone Weil (1909 – 1943)
We do not have to understand new things, but by dint of patience, effort and method to come to understand with our whole self the truths which are evident. Simone Weil (1909 – 1943)
Attention alone — that attention which is so full that the ‘I’ disappears — is required of me. I have to deprive all that I call ‘I’ of the light of my attention and turn it on to that which cannot be conceived. Simone Weil (1909 – 1943)
And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me… And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish’d breasts of melons. And as […]