Do not shun the darkness of the night. Learn to love it, learn to feel it. For in the darkness of night you will hear the silent music, music that runs through all eternity, and through us, as though we were not there. It is the harmony, the rhythm of all things. It is preludes, fandangos, great symphonies of joy, all things that are in harmony. One of the strongest of all is our heartbeat, which keeps us upon this earth, and the prayers throughout the world. So in your darkness, listen quietly, for it comes at such times: the silent music of the night ... the silent music of life.
Humility is not a matter of beating ourselves up. It is not a question of judging ourselves as stupid or sinful, as hopeless and bad. Who are we to judge these things? Humility, it seems, is the gentle acceptance of that most tender place inside ourselves that throbs with the pain of separation from the Beloved. It is that deep knowingness that identification with the false self brings nothing but further separation. It is an initially reluctant dropping down into the emptiness and an ultimate experience of peace when we stop doing and rediscover simple being . . . when we heed the call to cease creating and remember we are created.
