as always happens on thursday evenings following a moment of melancholy, a glass of cheap red wine and the muttering of some deep prayers, the foolishness and real worminess of oneself is revealed by Her precious wisdom and things change to a different shade. that all doors open to the same is not because the One has yet to be discovered, but rather that the doors, and walls for that matter, are toys of fiction and so the youngest of children would understand the world outside each door should be the same through every passage. that it turns grey is not at all the case, but i am looking through a filter which is myself, which am not at all myself, if i would really take to thinking about it.that is how it seems now, not that i am seeing colours, though i would much like to take such a trip at the present moment, but that i see myself in the way of what is real, and as such need think more towards an erasing of i for everything and everyone else in this whole spinning universe…
The kind of work we do does not make us holy but we make it holy – Meister Eckhart