Be the absence of wall, a window or door, so light shines in.
We are born to die. We die as we live. Today, then, describes our death. Some men are blown out like candles. Others convulse and cry out. A few depart lucid and lit.
His two-year-old son died. He lost most of his wealth in the Great Chicago Fire. All four of his daughters drowned in the sinking of a passenger vessel. “Saved alone…” came a telegram from his wife. Afterward, he composed a hymn, “It is Well with my Soul.” Philip Bliss wrote the music.
We come to this: Nothing that matters is affected by death.
Resistance invigorates your opponent. (You can watch it happen.) Therefore, resist nothing.
What happens to darkness when light floods the room? Where does it go? What went?
If it is unexpected and unpredicted, it is real; it is true. When we are taken by surprise, when we are seized and ravished by the experience of being stood upside down, the mind stops. In that moment, what “sleeps in our paper flesh like dynamite” explodes, and we are conscious of not knowing anything.