History, call it 15,000 or 25,000 years of duration, is the story of an animal, some kind of complex animal, becoming conscious.

The world is mental in some way that we do not yet understand, but that which we're edging toward understanding. And the world is made of language. I can't say that enough. Whenever we get into these discussions about reality, or effects in space and time, we are operating outside this assumption that the world is made of language.

There is no mundane dimension really, if you have the eyes to see it, it is all transcendental.

What history is, essentially, is a careening, out-of-control effort to find our way back to this state of primordial balance.

No one is in charge of this process, this is what makes history so interesting, it's a runaway freight train on a dark and stormy night.

I have never felt that the primary use of these things was to cure what is called in modern parlance neurosis, what I call unhappiness. It isn't for that.

I have a skeptical and cranky side, and I'm forever puzzled why people believe the, seeming to me, dumb things that they choose to believe.