I woke up early one morning a couple of years ago and felt the tenderness of my being alone, the bitter sweetness of it. It has many colors, being alone. I walked out into my living room and I can say honestly that everything was pouring with life - the red sofa, the chairs with their patterns of roses, even the coffee table with its scattering of books. Everything was alive with the presence of being. Seeing the world though those eyes, I realized that I could never really be alone.

We have to be on time every day for one thing or another, so how can we be on time and yet not in time at the same time?

When we fall utterly, something gathers us up. But our falling must be without reservation, without expectation, without hope, though not hopeless. You cant plan that kind of falling. When you abandon yourself utterly to life, the river will flow, and the log jam will free. Impossible is another word for grace. Who wouldve thought it, life takes another turn, and you are gathered up into a whole different way of seeing and being.

The American culture especially, and Western culture in general, urges us to not only become the best that we can be, but also win against the competition.

I belong on this earth in the way that an oak tree does.

Be willing to be where you actually are. In my experience, that is the most inherently meaningful experience you can have.

Each of us is already special in the sense that nobody has the unique pattern of potentialities that anyone else has.