A beautiful woman looking at her image in the mirror may very well believe the image is herself. An ugly woman knows it is not.

Nature is now a holiday destination, tucked safely "over there", only entering life when we choose it to. This is Adamic sin: the ridiculous presumption that we can tame, use and abuse Nature without any loss to our being, which, when you think about it, is simply an insistence that there is no Internal.

The most difficult thing nowadays is not to be part of the problem.

Not a self but a surge.

Satiation is the point at which you must face the existential revelation that you didn't want really want what you seemed so desperate to have, that your most urgent desires are only a filthy vitalist trick to keep the show on the road.

Imagine a sand castle at the beach. Grand and elaborate with merlons, turrets, moat and drawbridge, adorned with beautiful shells. Then a freak wave surges in from the sea and washes it all away. The castle (made of things – bits and pieces) is the small/false self and the wave (spirit and energy) is the big/true Self. The difference between them is total. Incomparable, incompatible, incommensurable. Of entirely other worlds. The modern mind, both lazy and fearful, is in the castle, whereas the heart, fundamentally primal and archaic, is with the wave.

In love with emptiness and silence – pure potential unburdened by actuality.

It is not my business to think about myself. My business is to think about God. It is for God to think about me.

Don't believe in (something), instead be in belief, like being in love, as though love/belief is a substance, like water, or air, which it is. The object of belief is always a false idol (how can it be otherwise?) my paltry mind being the limitation it is.

Until the spirit new sensation takes hold

Then you know

Don't confuse spirit with life. Life is overrated.

What pleases the mind is not dangerous enough.

Every modern convenience, by definition, without exception, improves life by reducing spirit.

This smörgåsbord of modern life, perpetually inviting me to exercise my bourgeois right to pick and choose. It doesn't take long to twig that it all tastes the same.

I've got the spirit 
Lose the feeling 
Let it out somehow

Says is all really: wake up, forget self, give.

Imagine. You find an injured animal and take it in. Tend it, care for it, rear it. Then it's time to reintroduce it to the WILD. That now becomes the project, the future, the possibility of future. Then, when the time comes, you let it go, decisively, fearfully, joyfully. No guarantees; only hope. This is exactly, EXACTLY, one's relationship with spirit.

The popularity of talent shows, from X-Factor to the Turner Prize, all to do with marketing mediocrity than real creativity, reveals just how limited and limiting talent actually is. No self-respecting artist would countenance such a route.