Life is a series of surprises. They wake us up, surprises do. If it weren’t for surprises, we’d be cocooned in our own conditioning, wrapped in our habits, mummified in memory, made dull and robotic through endless repetition. See, we measure our liveliness by what we shed, in moments of realizing, ‘I’m done with that.’
For us to help someone, we must be beyond the need of help ourselves. We’re not beyond the need of help until the moment arrives when we realize we are sons of God.
No one has power to ruin my life. Am I ruined? Then I ruined myself. This is the realization that allowed Socrates to say, “You can kill me but you cannot hurt me.”
Nobody can make me happy. Somebody might make me conscious.
Home is not a house; it’s the present moment.
If we are not present, we are not at home.
The prodigal son awakened in a pig barn. Stunning, to find oneself at home in a pig barn.
