There the industrious young man spent his evenings, fitting together the apparatus, a victim to the charms of wireless, and kneeling on pious knees before the god of applied science whose might had made it possible to discover after thousands of years a fact which every thinker has always known and put to better use than in this recent and very imperfect development. We spoke about this, for the aunt had a slight leaning to piety and religious topics were not unwelcome to her. I told her that the omnipresence of all forces and facts was well known to ancient India, and that science had merely brought a small fraction of this fact into general use by devising for it, that is, for sound waves, a receiver and transmitter which were still in their first stages and miserably defective. The principal fact known to that ancient knowledge was, I said, the unreality of time. This science had not yet observed. Finally, it would, of course, make this "discovery," also, and then the inventors would get busy over it. The discovery would be made - and perhaps very soon - that there were floating round us not only the pictures and events of the transient present in the same way that music from Paris or Berlin was now heard in Frankfurt or Zurich, but that all that had ever happened in the past could be registered and brought back likewise. We might well look for the day when, with wires or without, with or without the disturbance of other sounds, we should hear King Solomon speaking, or Walter von der Vogelweide. And all this, I said, just as today was the case with the beginnings of wireless, would be of no more service to man than as an escape from himself and his true aims, and a means of surrounding himself with an ever closer mesh of distractions and useless activities.
In eternity there is no posterity.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Innocence
When people talk about going back to nature, do they really know what they are asking for?
Joseph Campbell, Schizophrenia - the Inward Journey
He who sentimentally sings of blessed childhood is thinking of the return to nature and innocence and the origin of things, and has quite forgotten that these blessed children are beset with conflict and complexities and capable of all suffering.
Every created thing, even the simplest, is already guilty, already multiple.
The way to innocence, to the uncreated and to God leads on, not back, not back to the wolf or to the child, but ever further into sin, ever deeper into human life.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
"But I'm not guilty," said K. "It's a mistake. How can any person in general be guilty? We're all human after all, each and every one of us." "That's right," said the priest, "but that's how guilty people always talk." "Are you prejudiced against me too?" asked K. "I'm not prejudiced against you," said the priest. "Thank you," said K. "But everyone else involved with the proceedings is prejudiced against me. And they instill it in those who aren't involved. My position is becoming increasingly difficult." "You misunderstand the facts of the matter," said the priest. "The judgment isn't simply delivered at some point; the proceedings gradually merge into the judgment."
Franz Kafka, The Trial
Oh memory, art thou living yet? Quickened indeed by the very impulse of the burning flame, memory revives and takes the back track of a man's life and goes back into those days of innocence and love, goes back and feels the kiss of mother once again, goes back and hears the sermon in the old church, goes back to the very day when the preacher talked about hell and the man believed it not; goes back to opportunity and sunshine and light again. Oh, memory, memory, memory! Oh, if a man could go to hell and leave his memory behind him it would not be hell. After all, hell is memory and memory is hell.
Rev. J.B. Cranfill, A Man in Hell
"O nobly born, let not thy mind be distracted." That was the problem—to remain undistracted. Undistracted by the memory of past sins, by imagined pleasure, by the bitter aftertaste of old wrongs and humiliations, by all the fears and hates and cravings that ordinarily eclipse the Light.
Aldous Huxley, The Doors of Perception
Joseph Campbell, Schizophrenia - the Inward Journey
He who sentimentally sings of blessed childhood is thinking of the return to nature and innocence and the origin of things, and has quite forgotten that these blessed children are beset with conflict and complexities and capable of all suffering.
Every created thing, even the simplest, is already guilty, already multiple.
The way to innocence, to the uncreated and to God leads on, not back, not back to the wolf or to the child, but ever further into sin, ever deeper into human life.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
"But I'm not guilty," said K. "It's a mistake. How can any person in general be guilty? We're all human after all, each and every one of us." "That's right," said the priest, "but that's how guilty people always talk." "Are you prejudiced against me too?" asked K. "I'm not prejudiced against you," said the priest. "Thank you," said K. "But everyone else involved with the proceedings is prejudiced against me. And they instill it in those who aren't involved. My position is becoming increasingly difficult." "You misunderstand the facts of the matter," said the priest. "The judgment isn't simply delivered at some point; the proceedings gradually merge into the judgment."
Franz Kafka, The Trial
Oh memory, art thou living yet? Quickened indeed by the very impulse of the burning flame, memory revives and takes the back track of a man's life and goes back into those days of innocence and love, goes back and feels the kiss of mother once again, goes back and hears the sermon in the old church, goes back to the very day when the preacher talked about hell and the man believed it not; goes back to opportunity and sunshine and light again. Oh, memory, memory, memory! Oh, if a man could go to hell and leave his memory behind him it would not be hell. After all, hell is memory and memory is hell.
Rev. J.B. Cranfill, A Man in Hell
"O nobly born, let not thy mind be distracted." That was the problem—to remain undistracted. Undistracted by the memory of past sins, by imagined pleasure, by the bitter aftertaste of old wrongs and humiliations, by all the fears and hates and cravings that ordinarily eclipse the Light.
Aldous Huxley, The Doors of Perception
Layers
Man is an onion made up of a hundred integuments, a texture made up of many threads.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Carapace
The judge who sits over the murderer and looks into his face, and at one moment recognizes all the emotions and potentialities and possibilities of the murderer in his own soul and hears the murderer's voice as his own, is at the next moment one and indivisible as the judge, and scuttles back into the shell of his cultivated self and does his duty and condemns the murderer to death.
...the bourgeois today burns as heretics and hangs as criminals those to whom he erects monuments tomorrow.
Man is not by any means of fixed and enduring form (this, in spite of suspicions to the contrary on the part of their wise men, was the ideal of the ancients). He is much more an experiment and a transition. He is nothing else than the narrow and perilous bridge between nature and spirit.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Most people never have to face the fact that, at the right time and the right place, they're capable of anything.
Chinatown
Human nature, essentially changeable, unstable as the dust, can endure no restraint; if it binds itself it soon begins to tear madly at its bonds, until it rends everything asunder, the wall, the bonds, and its very self.
Franz Kafka, The Great Wall and the Tower of Babel
The primary nature of consciousness is not to remain constant. Objects keep on changing, when the mind stops, there is no-mind. The very nature of consciousness is to change, but you think one thing, then the very next second, something different, if consciousness becomes steady it will be awareness.
Nisargadatta Maharaj
...the bourgeois today burns as heretics and hangs as criminals those to whom he erects monuments tomorrow.
Man is not by any means of fixed and enduring form (this, in spite of suspicions to the contrary on the part of their wise men, was the ideal of the ancients). He is much more an experiment and a transition. He is nothing else than the narrow and perilous bridge between nature and spirit.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Most people never have to face the fact that, at the right time and the right place, they're capable of anything.
Chinatown
Human nature, essentially changeable, unstable as the dust, can endure no restraint; if it binds itself it soon begins to tear madly at its bonds, until it rends everything asunder, the wall, the bonds, and its very self.
Franz Kafka, The Great Wall and the Tower of Babel
The primary nature of consciousness is not to remain constant. Objects keep on changing, when the mind stops, there is no-mind. The very nature of consciousness is to change, but you think one thing, then the very next second, something different, if consciousness becomes steady it will be awareness.
Nisargadatta Maharaj
Literary Mandala
All interpretation, all psychology, all attempts to make things comprehensible, require the medium of theories, mythologies and lies; and a self-respecting author should not omit, at the close of an exposition, to dissipate these lies so far as may be in his power. If I say "above" or "below," that is already a statement that requires explanation, since an above and a below exist only in thought, only as abstractions. The world itself knows nothing of above or below.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Just long enough for a joke
[every artist] arrives at the ultimate pinnacle of his greatness only when he comes to see himself and his art beneath him - when he knows how to laugh at himself.
Friedrich Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morals
To live in the world as though it were not the world, to respect the law and yet to stand above it, to have possessions as though "one possessed nothing," to renounce as though it were no renunciation, all these favourite and often formulated propositions of an exalted worldly wisdom, it is in the power of humour alone to make efficacious.
Eternity is a mere moment, just long enough for a joke.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Friedrich Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morals
To live in the world as though it were not the world, to respect the law and yet to stand above it, to have possessions as though "one possessed nothing," to renounce as though it were no renunciation, all these favourite and often formulated propositions of an exalted worldly wisdom, it is in the power of humour alone to make efficacious.
Eternity is a mere moment, just long enough for a joke.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Friday, February 27, 2009
Superstition
I know of a wild region whose librarians repudiate the vain superstitious custom of seeking any sense in books and compare it to looking for meaning in dreams or in the chaotic lines of one's hands...They admit that the inventors of writing imitated the twenty-five natural symbols, but they maintain that this application is accidental and that books in themselves mean nothing. This opinion - we shall see - is not altogether false.
Jorge Luis Borges, The Library of Babel
From books and words come fantasy, and sometimes, from fantasy comes union.
Rumi
Jorge Luis Borges, The Library of Babel
From books and words come fantasy, and sometimes, from fantasy comes union.
Rumi
Trials
Before the Law stands a doorkeeper. A man from the country comes to this doorkeeper and requests admittance to the Law. But the doorkeeper says that he can't grant him admittance now. The man thinks it over and then asks if he'll be allowed to enter later. 'It's possible,' says the doorkeeper, 'but not now.' Since the gate to the Law stands open as always, and the doorkeeper steps aside, the man bends down to look through the gate into the interior. When the doorkeeper sees this he laughs and says: 'If you're so drawn to it, go ahead and try to enter, even though I've forbidden it. But bear this in mind: I'm powerful. And I'm only the lowest doorkeeper. From hall to hall, however, stand doorkeepers each more powerful than the one before. The mere sight of the third is more than even I can bear.' The man from the country has not anticipated such difficulties; the Law should be accessible to anyone at any time, he thinks, but as he now examines the doorkeeper in his fur coat more closely, his large, sharply pointed nose, his long, thin, black tartar's beard, he decides he would prefer to wait until he receives permission to enter. The doorkeeper gives him a stool and lets him sit down at the side of the door. He sits there for days and years. He asks time and again to be admitted and wearies the doorkeeper with his entreaties. The doorkeeper often conducts brief interrogations, inquiring about his home and many other matters, but he asks such questions indifferently, as great men do, and in the end he always tells him he still can't admit him. The man, who has equipped himself well for his journey, uses everything he has, no matter how valuable, to bribe the doorkeeper. And the doorkeeper accepts everything, but as he does so he says: 'I'm taking this just so you won't think you've neglected something.' Over the many years, the man observes the doorkeeper almost incessantly. He forgets the other doorkeepers and this first one seems to him the only obstacle to his admittance to the Law. He curses his unhappy fate, loudly during the first years, later, as he grows older, merely grumbling to himself. He turns childish, and since he has come to know even the fleas in the doorkeeper's collar over his years of study, he asks the fleas too to help him change the doorkeeper's mind. Finally his eyes grow dim and he no longer knows whether it's really getting darker around him or if his eyes are merely deceiving him. And yet in the darkness he now sees a radiance that streams forth inextinguishably from the door of the Law. He doesn't have much longer to live now. Before he dies, everything he has experienced over the years coalesces in his mind into a single question he has never asked the doorkeeper. He motions to him, since he can no longer straighten his stiffening body. The doorkeeper has to bend down to him, for the difference in size between them has altered greatly to the man's disadvantage. 'What do you want to know now,' asks the doorkeeper, 'you're insatiable.' 'Everyone strives to reach the Law,' says the man, 'how does it happen, then, that in all these years no one but me has requested admittance.' The doorkeeper sees that the man is nearing his end, and in order to reach his failing hearing, he roars at him: 'No one else could gain admittance here, because this entrance was meant solely for you. I'm going to go and shut it now.'
Franz Kafka, The Trial
As for the way to true manhood, the way to the immortals, he has, it is true, an inkling of it and starts upon it now and then for a few hesitating steps and pays for them with much suffering and many pangs of loneliness. But as for striving with assurance, in response to that supreme demand, towards the genuine manhood of the spirit, and going the one narrow way to immortality, he is deeply afraid of it. He knows too well that it leads to still greater sufferings, to proscription, to the last renunciation, perhaps to the scaffold, and even though the enticement of immortality lies at the journey's end, he is still unwilling to suffer all these sufferings and to die all these deaths. Though the goal of manhood is better known to him than to the bourgeois, still he shuts his eyes. He is resolved to forget that the desperate clinging to the self and the desperate clinging to life are the surest way to eternal death, while the power to die, to strip one's self naked, and the eternal surrender of the self bring immortality with them.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Upon your continual cowardice, your repeated lies, sentence will be passed on the day when some exhibition of your weakness, in itself, perhaps, quite trivial, deprives you of any further opportunities to make a choice - and justly.
Do you at least feel grateful that your trial is permitted to continue, that you have not yet been taken at your word?
Dag Hammarskjold
Franz Kafka, The Trial
As for the way to true manhood, the way to the immortals, he has, it is true, an inkling of it and starts upon it now and then for a few hesitating steps and pays for them with much suffering and many pangs of loneliness. But as for striving with assurance, in response to that supreme demand, towards the genuine manhood of the spirit, and going the one narrow way to immortality, he is deeply afraid of it. He knows too well that it leads to still greater sufferings, to proscription, to the last renunciation, perhaps to the scaffold, and even though the enticement of immortality lies at the journey's end, he is still unwilling to suffer all these sufferings and to die all these deaths. Though the goal of manhood is better known to him than to the bourgeois, still he shuts his eyes. He is resolved to forget that the desperate clinging to the self and the desperate clinging to life are the surest way to eternal death, while the power to die, to strip one's self naked, and the eternal surrender of the self bring immortality with them.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Upon your continual cowardice, your repeated lies, sentence will be passed on the day when some exhibition of your weakness, in itself, perhaps, quite trivial, deprives you of any further opportunities to make a choice - and justly.
Do you at least feel grateful that your trial is permitted to continue, that you have not yet been taken at your word?
Dag Hammarskjold
Phoenix
Let everything be consumed by the fire in the hope that something of value may be left which can be riddled out of the ashes.
Dag Hammarskjold
...suicides present themselves as those who are overtaken by the sense of guilt inherent in individuals, those souls that find the aim of life not in the perfecting and molding of the self, but in liberatring themselves by going back to the mother, back to God, back to the all. Many of these natures are wholly incapable of ever having recourse to real suicide, because they have a profound consciousness of the sin of doing so. For us they are suicides nonetheless; for they see death and not life as the releaser. They are ready to cast themselves away in surrender, to be extinguished and to go back to the beginning.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Dag Hammarskjold
...suicides present themselves as those who are overtaken by the sense of guilt inherent in individuals, those souls that find the aim of life not in the perfecting and molding of the self, but in liberatring themselves by going back to the mother, back to God, back to the all. Many of these natures are wholly incapable of ever having recourse to real suicide, because they have a profound consciousness of the sin of doing so. For us they are suicides nonetheless; for they see death and not life as the releaser. They are ready to cast themselves away in surrender, to be extinguished and to go back to the beginning.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Conversations
The overtones are lost, and what is left are conversations which, in their poverty, cannot hide the lack of real contact. We glide past each other. But why? Why-?
We reach out towards the other. In vain - because we have never dared to give ourselves.
Dag Hammarskjold
We reach out towards the other. In vain - because we have never dared to give ourselves.
Dag Hammarskjold
Beyond Boreas
- Never on land or by sea will you find
- the marvelous road to the feast of the Hyperborea.
- Pindar
It is the kingdom on the other side of time and appearances. It is there we belong. There is our home. It is that which our heart strives for. And for that reason, Steppenwolf, we long for death.
Our only guide is our homesickness.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
- I am being driven forward
- Into an unknown land.
- The pass grows steeper,
- The air colder and sharper.
- A wind from my unknown goal
- Stirs the strings
- Of expectation.
- Still the question:
- Shall I ever get there?
- There where life resounds,
- A clear pure note
- In the silence.
- Dag Hammarskjold
Forged by Others
To use language at all is to use an instrument which is forged by others. It is not that the purely personal cannot be uttered in [English]; it cannot be uttered in language at all. All languages are foreign languages - foreign to us, that is to say...It is never my language, for "I" have no language.
Gabriel Josipovici
Every individual is at once the beneficiary and the victim of the linguistic tradition into which he has been born—the beneficiary inasmuch as language gives access to the accumulated records of other people's experience, the victim in so far as it confirms him in the belief that reduced awareness is the only awareness and as it bedevils his sense of reality, so that he is all too apt to take his concepts for data, his words for actual things. That which, in the language of religion, is called "this world" is the universe of reduced awareness, expressed, and, as it were, petrified by language.
Aldous Huxley, The Doors of Perception
To speak is to fall into tautologies. This useless and wordy epistle itself already exists in one of the thirty volumes of the five shelves in one of the uncountable hexagons - and so does its refutation. (An n number of possible languages make use of the same vocabulary; in some of them, the symbol library admits of the correct definition ubiquitous and everlasting system of hexagonal galleries, but library is bread or pyramid or anything else, and the seven words which define it possess another value. You who read me, are you sure you understand my language?)
Methodical writing distracts me from the present condition of men. But the certainty that everything has been already written nullifies or makes phantoms of us all.
Jorge Luis Borges, The Library of Babel
Like the nest of a bird, a mythology is fashioned of materials drawn from the local environment, apparently altogether consciously, but according to an achitecture unconsciously dictated from within.
Joseph Campbell, Myths to Live By
Gabriel Josipovici
Every individual is at once the beneficiary and the victim of the linguistic tradition into which he has been born—the beneficiary inasmuch as language gives access to the accumulated records of other people's experience, the victim in so far as it confirms him in the belief that reduced awareness is the only awareness and as it bedevils his sense of reality, so that he is all too apt to take his concepts for data, his words for actual things. That which, in the language of religion, is called "this world" is the universe of reduced awareness, expressed, and, as it were, petrified by language.
Aldous Huxley, The Doors of Perception
To speak is to fall into tautologies. This useless and wordy epistle itself already exists in one of the thirty volumes of the five shelves in one of the uncountable hexagons - and so does its refutation. (An n number of possible languages make use of the same vocabulary; in some of them, the symbol library admits of the correct definition ubiquitous and everlasting system of hexagonal galleries, but library is bread or pyramid or anything else, and the seven words which define it possess another value. You who read me, are you sure you understand my language?)
Methodical writing distracts me from the present condition of men. But the certainty that everything has been already written nullifies or makes phantoms of us all.
Jorge Luis Borges, The Library of Babel
Like the nest of a bird, a mythology is fashioned of materials drawn from the local environment, apparently altogether consciously, but according to an achitecture unconsciously dictated from within.
Joseph Campbell, Myths to Live By
Erasure
Only the hand that erases
can write the true thing
Meister Eckhart
It's better to destroy than to create what's unessential.
Federico Fellini, 8 1/2
In the dim light he searches every face, but sees only endless variations on his own meanness. So might Dante have imagined the punishment of those who had never taken the risk. -To reach perfection, we must all pass, one by one, through the death of self-effacement. And, on this side of it, he will never find the way to anyone who has passed through it.
Dag Hammarskjold
can write the true thing
Meister Eckhart
It's better to destroy than to create what's unessential.
Federico Fellini, 8 1/2
In the dim light he searches every face, but sees only endless variations on his own meanness. So might Dante have imagined the punishment of those who had never taken the risk. -To reach perfection, we must all pass, one by one, through the death of self-effacement. And, on this side of it, he will never find the way to anyone who has passed through it.
Dag Hammarskjold
Named and Nameless
- The Way that can be told of is not an unvarying way;
- The names that can be named are not unvarying names.
- It was from the Nameless that Heaven and Earth sprang;
- The named is but the mother that rears the ten thousand creatures, each after its kind.
- Tao Te Ching (chap. 1, tr. Waley)
Ineffable
–adjective
| 1. | incapable of being expressed or described in words; inexpressible: ineffable joy. |
| 2. | not to be spoken because of its sacredness; unutterable: the ineffable name of the deity. |
Freedom, Posession, Mortality
There is only one path out of the steamy dense jungle where the battle is fought over glory and power and advantage - one escape from the snares and obstacles you yourself have set up. And that is - to accept death.
The anguish of loneliness brings blasts from the storm center of death: only that can be really yours which is another's, for only what you have given, be it only in the gratitude of acceptance, is salvaged from the nothing which some day will have been your life.
She knew that nothing would get better, that it would never be any different. He had lost interest in his work, and no longer did anything. Because, he said, he was not given a free hand. And now she was sitting there praying for his freedom, praying because she so wanted to believe that he was being unfairly treated, that, if only he was given his freedom, he would become a man again. Wanted to believe it so that she might keep up her belief in him. She knew what the true answer was, but she had to force herself to listen to it: he was as free as anybody can be in the economic mazes of a modern society, and any external change would only bring him fresh disappointment. The situation would repeat itself, and he would discover that everything was just as it had been before.
Yes, yes - And she knew more: knew that there could never be a way out. Because behind all his talk of freedom lay hidden a child's wish to conquer death, a lack of interest in any piece of work the result of which would not be his, even long after he was dead. -And yet she sat there praying.
Dag Hammarskjold
The anguish of loneliness brings blasts from the storm center of death: only that can be really yours which is another's, for only what you have given, be it only in the gratitude of acceptance, is salvaged from the nothing which some day will have been your life.
She knew that nothing would get better, that it would never be any different. He had lost interest in his work, and no longer did anything. Because, he said, he was not given a free hand. And now she was sitting there praying for his freedom, praying because she so wanted to believe that he was being unfairly treated, that, if only he was given his freedom, he would become a man again. Wanted to believe it so that she might keep up her belief in him. She knew what the true answer was, but she had to force herself to listen to it: he was as free as anybody can be in the economic mazes of a modern society, and any external change would only bring him fresh disappointment. The situation would repeat itself, and he would discover that everything was just as it had been before.
Yes, yes - And she knew more: knew that there could never be a way out. Because behind all his talk of freedom lay hidden a child's wish to conquer death, a lack of interest in any piece of work the result of which would not be his, even long after he was dead. -And yet she sat there praying.
Dag Hammarskjold
Quietness
Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Escape.
Walk out like someone suddenly born into colour.
Do it now.
You're covered with thick cloud.
Slide out the side. Die,
and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign
that you've died.
Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.
The speechless full moon
comes out now.
Rumi
When all becomes silent around you, and you recoil in terror - see that your work has become a flight from suffering and responsibility, your unselfishness a thinly disguised masochism; hear, throbbing within you, the spiteful, cruel heart of the steppe wolf - do not then anesthetize yourself by once again calling up the shouts and horns of the hunt, but gaze steadfastly at the vision until you have plumbed its depths.
Only tell others what is of importance to them. Only ask them what you need to know. In both cases, that is, limit the conversation to what the speaker really possesses.-
Argue only in order to reach a conclusion. Think aloud only with those to whom this means something. Don't let small talk fill up the time and the silence except as a medium for bearing unexpressed messages between two people who are attuned to each other. A dietary for those who have learned by experience the truth of the saying, "For every idle word..." But hardly popular in social life.
Dag Hammarskjold
The mind must sing the ‘I am’ without words. Be liberated, if you think you have acquired knowledge and that is your achievement, then you are still far from Self-knowledge.
Nisargadatta Maharaj
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Escape.
Walk out like someone suddenly born into colour.
Do it now.
You're covered with thick cloud.
Slide out the side. Die,
and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign
that you've died.
Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.
The speechless full moon
comes out now.
Rumi
When all becomes silent around you, and you recoil in terror - see that your work has become a flight from suffering and responsibility, your unselfishness a thinly disguised masochism; hear, throbbing within you, the spiteful, cruel heart of the steppe wolf - do not then anesthetize yourself by once again calling up the shouts and horns of the hunt, but gaze steadfastly at the vision until you have plumbed its depths.
Only tell others what is of importance to them. Only ask them what you need to know. In both cases, that is, limit the conversation to what the speaker really possesses.-
Argue only in order to reach a conclusion. Think aloud only with those to whom this means something. Don't let small talk fill up the time and the silence except as a medium for bearing unexpressed messages between two people who are attuned to each other. A dietary for those who have learned by experience the truth of the saying, "For every idle word..." But hardly popular in social life.
Dag Hammarskjold
The mind must sing the ‘I am’ without words. Be liberated, if you think you have acquired knowledge and that is your achievement, then you are still far from Self-knowledge.
Nisargadatta Maharaj
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