Perfectionism Is Slow Death.

The Ego, As A Collection Of Our Past Experiences, Is Continually Offering Miserable Lines Of Thought. It's As If There Were A Stream With Little Fish Swimming By, And When We Hook One Of Them There Is A Judgment. The Ego Is Constantly Judging Everybody And Everything. It Has Its Constant Little Chit Chat About Things That Can Happen In The Future, Things About The Past, Too, And These Are The Little Fish That Swim By. And What We Learn To Do-this Is Why It Takes Work-is To Not Reach Out And Grab A Fish.

There Is A Time To Let Things Happen And A Time To Make Things Happen.

Love Itself Is Not An Act Of Will, But Sometimes I Need The Force Of My Volition To Break With My Habitual Responses And Pass Along The Love Already Here.

I Live Now And Only Now, And I Will Do What I Want To Do This Moment And Not What I Decided Was Best For Me Yesterday.

Sometimes I Doubt And Sometimes I Believe. And I Like Not Making Myself Believe When I Am Doubting, And Not Making Myself Doubt When I Am Believing. Surely Neither God Nor Accident Need My Consistency.