Everything constantly changes.

The love of someone else is more accessible or more possible if one lives with a sense of loving embrace towards oneself because that extends out into the world.

The ego, as our familiar sense of self, seems predicated on fear. The fear that we might not make it, that we might not get where we want to go. But deep down there is also a grain of fear that we have nothing to give or nothing to offer. I think that's the ego's justifiable anxiety about its substantiality and existence.

When we're fully engaged in the present moment, no matter what we're doing, the question of meaning never seems to arise. It's because we feel fulfilled and that is inherently meaningful.

Love, like everything else, exists in a spectrum. Love of another, love of the world, love of God, all these loves are really one love in different degrees of light and density.

I had a classic case of what people call "seeker's disease." That was part of my journey, but now, meaning is like a secret that's revealing itself moment by moment, day by day.

What's not often in the present moment is the thinking mind.