Anything you grab hold of on the bank breaks with the river's pressure. When you do things from your soul, the river itself moves through you. Freshness and a deep joy are signs of the current.

Ramana Maharshi and Rumi would agree: the joy of being human is in uncovering the core we already are, the treasure buried in the ruin.

I think we all have a core that's ecstatic, that knows and that looks up in wonder. We all know that there are marvelous moments of eternity that just happen. We know them.

When you meet a new friend, the world has more light in it, doesn't it? Things become more spontaneous, and more full of laughing and freedom and novelty.

It's such a foolish thing to argue about names, when what we're doing is all one thing.

The religions of the world are luminous in their individuality, and they have valuable social and soulmaking functions. Surely someday we will quit killing each other over their different strategies.

Just being sentient and in a body with the sun coming up is a state of rapture.

Longing becomes more poignant if in the distance you can't tell whether your friend is going away or coming back. The pushing away pulls you in.

It's a beautiful lucid dream that has language that I can fiddle with.

There's some sort of exchange that goes on between human beings that is one of the highest things we do.

I had never heard of Rumi until Robert Bly handed me this book and he said, ah, “These poems need to be released from their cages.”

Don’t allow your crisis to become a crisis of faith.

True music begins when the song of your soul finds its tune and the emotions of your heart find their voices.

Let life be the foundation. Be brave. Wander deep inside yourself to the little room no one knows about. Fling the door wide open and write.

Most modern homes are simply uninhabitable without electricity - you couldn't flush the toilet without it. It's a huge dependency situation.

If a life goes down the toilet, it comes out in a river and meets the sea.

We have to start treating each other as if we are treating ourselves living another life.

The poverty line is like the age of consent: if you find yourself parsing exactly where it is, you’ve probably already done something very, very wrong.

The ultimate truth is so simple. It is nothing more than being in the pristine state. This is all that needs to be said. Only mature minds can grasp the simple truth in all its nakedness.

Luck lies in bed, and wishes the postman would bring him news of a legacy; labor turns out at six, and with busy pen or ringing hammer lays the foundation of a competence.

Every working mom I know is constantly walking some kind of a tightrope of guilt.