Listen to the music of the young ones, the braves. They’re not waiting for an apology from the Pope.
If I am waiting for someone to say or do something so that I can be happy, then I inhabit a purgatorial state. Waiting is dying.
We begin to see when we become aware of a luminous glow around the edge of things. Until that happens, we’re mostly disenchanted and half-awake, looking again at what we’ve looked at before.
Inexorably, without haste or delay, we outgrow our confinements. Shuck them off. The last husk to go is the body.
We are not the doers; we are the done to. The acted upon.
I like these guys, Messrs Cudd and Offbeat. And Luminous Essence, which I assume derives from the Tibetan Book of the Dead, sounds very good these days.