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

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.

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.

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.

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.”

He experienced the singular pleasure of watching people he loved fall in love with other people he loved.

When you get up in the morning, you have two choices - either to be happy or to be unhappy. Just choose to be happy

You should dream more, Mr. Wormold. Reality in our century is not something to be faced.

The world is a cruel place, Petrosinella, and it wounds the weak.

By all of your beauty I am so inspired. Your love has baptized me by fire.

It wasn't quite a question. It was more of an invitation to tell him whatever I chose. Eldric game me a choice, and it was this that made me want to tell him everything.

God inclines to shower His graces upon us, but our perverted will is a barrier to His generosity.

Thus drivers inching southward will see the phalanx of birds heading west as one spontaneous gesture.

When God's hand is on thy back, let thy hand be on thy mouth, for though the affliction be sharp it shall be but short.

Schizophrenia demons live in my head.