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.

People around us change and circumstances change. We can often find ourselves struggling against those things.

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.

Practice remembrance of the present moment, again and again.

When you die, God and the Angels will hold you accountable for all the pleasures you were allowed in life that you denied yourself.

The everyday, familiar sense of self who lives in time, and that dimension which we've called presence, that is always here, that is still and quiet.

The capacity to become aware of the givens of our existence - such as change - and to actually welcome those as just part of our human experience releases the struggle.