There are chakras in the hands; you've seen me use those quite frequently when I meditate. I project the shakti, the kundalini, through the chakras in the hands to people I meditate with.

People don't really want to know the truth. The truth is that you are all dead in the future, everything that you do has no point, and all of the achievements of the human race are meaningless.

Buddhism has existed forever, just like we have, and occasionally it's codified; it's put together into a system by someone who likes to codify.

They have said this is a lower level. Ridiculous! They're really both the same light, just two different forms.

In one particular chapter in Ulysses, James Joyce imitates every major writing style that's been used by English and American writers over the last 700 years - starting with Beowulf and Chaucer and working his way up through the Renaissance, the Victorian era and on into the 20th century.

One day the play ends and the screen goes blank. There is nothing. Everything returns to its original formlessness - and then another dream begins.

The purpose of life is happiness. What else could it possibly be?