The true is collective, impersonal, us and ours. The false is individual, personal, me and mine.
The man who stumbles through the office door bearing two handprints on the back of his jacket is, no surprise, a weak candidate for counselling. And the perfect candidate? His hair’s on fire.
The off-kilter mind fears and wants, divides and opposes. The role of the mind is to be a skilled canoeist—to go with the flow, to accept everything and resist nothing.
“Do you believe in miracles?” If by ‘miracle’ you mean a moment of unalloyed normalcy, of low-shouldered sublimity, of pure being empty of past and future, then yes, I do. If you mean an event when Nature is briefly persuaded to suspend one of her laws, then no, I don’t.
Life is a play of love. Which means all of it or none of it. I cannot say I love one country or six people. Love does not discriminate. It cannot be divided.