Simultaneously I Am Myself, The Child I

I ... Had What Kierkegaard Called 'the Sickness Of Infinitude,' Wandering From One Path To Another With No Real Recognition That I Was Embarked Upon A Search, And Scarcely A Clue As To What I Might Be After. I Only Knew That At The Bottom Of Each Breath There Was A Hollow Place That Needed To Be Filled.

You Do Your Best Work When You're Not Conscious Of Yourself.

The Secret Of The Mountain Is That The Mountains Simply Exist, As I Do Myself: The Mountains Exist Simply, Which I Do Not. The Mountains Have No "meaning," They Are Meaning; The Mountains Are. The Sun Is Round. I Ring With Life, And The Mountains Ring, And When I Can Hear It, There Is A Ringing That We Share. I Understand All This, Not In My Mind But In My Heart, Knowing How Meaningless It Is To Try To Capture What Cannot Be Expressed, Knowing That Mere Words Will Remain When I Read It All Again, Another Day.

The Zen Expression “kill The Buddha!” Means To Kill Any Concept Of The Buddha As Something Apart From Oneself.

The Great Stillness In These Landscapes That Once Made Me Restless Seeps Into Me Day By Day, And With It The Unreasonable Feeling That I Have Found What I Was Searching For Without Ever Having Discovered What It Was.