In the point of rest at the center of our being, we encounter a world where all things are at rest in the same way. Then a tree becomes a mystery, a cloud a revelation, each [person] a cosmos of whose riches we can only catch glimpses. The life of simplicity is simple, but it opens to us a book in which we never get beyond the first syllable.
I am being driven forward Into an unknown lane. The pass grows steeper, The air colder and sharper. A wind from my unknown goal Stirs the strings of expectation. Still the question: Shall I ever get there? There where life resounds, A clear pure note in the silence.
The "mystical experience." Always HERE and NOW -- in that freedom which is one with distance, in that stillness which is born of silence. But this is a freedom in the midst of action, a stillness in the midst of other human beings. The mystery is a constant reality to those who, in this world, are free from self-concern, a reality that grows peaceful and mature before the receptive attention of assent. In our era, the road to holiness necessarily passes through the world of action.
