You Take The Pen, And The Lines

At Every Moment You Choose Yourself. But Do You Choose *your* Self? Body And Soul Contain A Thousand Possibilities Out Of Which You Can Build Many I's. But In One Of Them Is There A Congruence Of The Elector And The Elected. Only One--which You Will Never Find Until You Have Excluded All Those Superficial And Fleeting Possibilities Of Being And Doing With Which You Toy, Out Of Curiosity Or Wonder Or Greed, And Which Hinder You From Casting Anchor In The Experience Of The Mystery Of Life, And The Consciousness Of The Talent Entrusted To You Which Is Your *i*.

Your Body Must Become Familiar With Its Death - In All Its Possible Forms And Degrees - As A Self-evident, Imminent, And Emotionally Neutral Step On The Way Towards The Goal You Have Found Worthy Of Your Life.

You Cannot Play With The Animal In You Without Becoming Wholly Animal, Play With Falsehood Without Forfeiting Your Right To Truth, Play With Cruelty Without Losing Your Sensitivity Of Mind. He Who Wants To Keep His Garden Tidy Does Not Reserve A Plot For Weeds

If Only I May Grow: Firmer, Simpler, Quieter, Warmer.

There Is A Point At Which Everything Becomes Simple And There Is No Longer Any Question Of Choice, Because All You Have Staked Will Be Lost If You Look Back. Life's Point Of No Return.