Adyashanti On The Now

94e1c-img_2468Adyashanti (October 26, 1962 -)

What you are is never born, never lives, and never dies. Birth-life-death happens within what you are, in the same way that a dream at night arises, has a span of time, and disappears within what you are . . . The nature of this that we are is to create. It creates an after-death experience. It creates Bardo realms. It creates beings to come greet you. It creates gods. It creates lights that beckon you. It creates tunnels, the whole thing. It’s just like in life . . . You can dream up a hundred past lives. And then the realization dawns: “Wait a minute, it’s all being constructed right now. There’s only now.

Virginia Woolf On Writing

09AFDF5A-A064-46D2-9E49-C9D22825FA1EVirginia Woolf (January 25, 1882 – March 28, 1941)

So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say. But to sacrifice a hair of the head of your vision, a shade of its colour, in deference to some Headmaster with a silver pot in his hand or to some professor with a measuring-rod up his sleeve, is the most abject treachery.

May Sarton On Solitude

81f3e7e8-9113-4944-9ead-705d961223e7May Sarton (May 3, 1912 – July 16, 1995)

I am alone here for the first time in weeks to take up my “real” life again at last. That is what is strange — that friends, even passionate love, are not my real life, unless there is time alone to explore and to discover what is happening or has happened.