It pains me to speak of God in the third person.
There is no room for God in him who is full of himself.
God is the "mysterium tremendum," that appears and overthrows, but he is also the mystery of the self-evident, nearer to me than my I.
Everything depends on inner change; when this has taken place, then, and only then does the world change.
All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.
As long as the firmament of the You is spread over me, the tempests of causality cower at my heels, and whirl of doom congeals.