Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish.

My real self wanders elsewhere, far away, wanders on and on invisibly and has nothing to do with my life.

With a secret smile, not unlike that of a healthy child,he walked along, peacefully, quietly. He wore his gown and walked along exactly like the other monks, but his face and his step, his peaceful downward glance, his peaceful downward-hanging hand, and every finger of his hand spoke of peace, spoke of completeness, sought nothing, imitated nothing, reflected a continuous quiet, an unfading light, an invulnerable peace.

Did all this make sense?

But your questions, which are unanswerable without exception, all spring from the same erroneous thinking.

The day had gone by just as days go by. I had killed it in accordance with my primitive and retiring way of life.

It taught him how to listen -- how to listen with a quiet heart and a waiting soul, open soul, without passion, without desire, without judgment, without opinion.