ะœy inner landscape

  This is not merely a record of the day, but a cartography of an invisible territory. I write slowly, for words today carry a specific, sweet weight—as if they are saturated with the rain that fell through my dreams all night. The world outside may be rushing, clocks ticking away their ruthless, linear logic, but here, in the space behind the breastbone, time has ceased to be a measure and has become a state of being. Today, my inner landscape is a morning forest after rain. Gone is the dry, dusty anxiety of summer, and the icy rigidity of winter. Instead, I feel the dampness of fertile soil— the earth is alive, breathing, ready to birth, yet in no hurry to do so. The air holds that crystalline purity that comes only after a storm or after a long weep that has washed away the sediment of the ego. The silence is not empty; it is saturated, dense, present. There is a slightly misty feeling, but it does not frighten. In the psychoanalytic sense, this fog is the liminal space—the th...

Self-love as love for God

In the first place is Love for God, this is what is meant by self-love. In the second place and on equal principles - love for God in the other and God in oneself, and in the third place - love, understanding and compassion for one's personality and the personality of the other, in the form of respect and understanding and tolerating the speed with which the Truth is seen - the speed with which the illusory layers of the personality are stripped away, the speed with which the ego is polished and vices and old karmic programs are cleared, the speed with which virtues are acquired.

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