Jesus, Mary, Muhammad And Vishnu, How Good

People Move Because Of The Wear And Tear Of Anxiety. Because Of The Gnawing Feeling That No Matter How Hard They Work Their Efforts Will Yield Nothing, That What They Build Up In One Year Will Be Torn Down In One Day By Others. Because Of The Impression That The Future Is Blocked Up, That *they* Might Do All Right But Not Their Children. Because Of The Feeling That Nothing Will Change, That Happiness And Prosperity Are Possible Only Somewhere Else.

War Subjects Itself To Transportation In A Way That We Find Acceptable.

For The First Time I Noticed - As I Would Notice Repeatedly During My Ordeal, Between One Throe Of Agony And The Next - That My Suffering Was Taking Place In A Grand Setting. I Saw My Suffering For What It Was, Finite And Insignificant, And I Was Still. My Suffering Did Not Fit Anywhere, I Realized. And I Could Accept This. It Was All Right.

The Paths To Liberation Are Numerous, But The Bank Along The Way Is Always The Same, The Bank Of Karma, Where The Liberation Account Of Each Of Us Is Credited Or Debited Depending On Our Actions.

I Spent More Hours Than I Can Count A Quiet Witness To The Highly Mannered, Manifold Expressions Of Life That Grace Our Planet. It Is Something So Bright, Loud, Weird And Delicate As To Stupefy The Senses.