There Is No Pain Compared To That

Very Few People Realise That Sex Is A Psychic And Not A Physical Act. The Clumsy Coupling Of Human Beings Is Simply A Biological Paraphrase Of This Truth - A Primitive Method Of Introducing Minds To Each Other, Engaging Them. But Most People Are Stuck In The Physical Aspect, Unaware Of The Poetic Rapport Which It So Clumsily Tries To Teach.

Truth Is A Matter Of Direct Apprehension-you Can't Climb A Ladder Of Mental Concepts To It.

Try And Travel With The Eyes Of The Spirit Wide Open, And Not Too Much Factual Information. To Tune In, Without Reverence, Idly -- But With Real Inward Attention. It Is To Be Had For The Feeling, That Mysterious Sense Of Rapport, Of Identity With The Ground. You Can Extract The Essence Of A Place Once You Know How. If You Just Get As Still As A Needle You'll Be There.

There Is No Pain Compared To That Of Loving A Woman Who Makes Her Body Accessible To One And Yet Who Is Incapable Of Delivering Her True Self -- Because She Does Not Know Where To Find It.

The Loved Object Is Simply One That Has Shared An Experience At The Same Moment Of Time, Narcissistically; And The Desire To Be Near The Beloved Object Is At First Not Due To The Idea Of Possessing It, But Simply To Let The Two Experiences Compare Themselves, Like Reflections In Different Mirrors. All This May Precede The First Look, Kiss, Or Touch; Precede Ambition, Pride, Or Envy; Precede The First Declarations Which Mark The Turning Point—for From Here Love Degenerates Into Habit, Possession, And Back To Loneliness.