Diamonds Without Settings

Aphorisms hardly walk, but leap, and lunge, and hit the mark.

Thoughts are surfaces. Deeds are depths. But thoughts are only surfaces before the real thinking starts. As Aesop says, words may be deeds. It is work, after all, to excavate the mind. Real digging. A pain in the neck and an ache in the back. And it's not all dirt in there, either. There are rocks as well. Heavy thinking is heavy lifting.

Test the quality of time.
Wet your noetic thumb and hold it in the space of time.
Learn the direction and speed of spiritual winds.

Clouds cannot hide the sun or the moon.
Only lack of imagination does that.

Knowledge is a burden only action can unload.

Nothing is more primal than banging a gavel.
Always, a brute sits on the bench.

If words scarcely outlive their subjects,
speak of mountains, not merchants.

To think of him is to be in his presence.
When you call him to mind, he really comes.

If I planned it, I'd never get it done.

Not all Muslims want to kill you,
and not all Christians think you're going to Hell.

Genius is rare in the market, but common in the madhouse.

We owe adversity the greatest debt.
Atlas does not lift the world because he is strong,
but is strong because he lifts the world.

Cynics demand, by way of proof,
that we walk upon our wings,
and flap our legs into flight.

We are prosecuted by the Justice of God, defended by His Mercy.
Is it any wonder, we always end with a hung jury?

I take up the book, and find myself taken up.
I grasp the truth, and feel myself in its grip.
I give my approval, and watch myself go.

False modesty is squirming out of a higher calling.

I've populated my consciousness with the denizens of my unconscious;
given faces to the invisible, and names to the unknown.

The intellect is a playpen, or child's room, -- 
a place to work things out, and just begin to test our strength;
but the will is the great adult world.

More than anything else,
you are afflicted by the thoughts to which you give credence, but no life.
If you believe it, you must live it, -- or die of it.

If you can't say something new, say it better;
if you can't say it better, say it quicker;
if you can't say it quicker, don't bother.

All this world can offer us,
as far as objects and experiences, will be taken away.
But the yearnings of the soul will go on as they have done.

We must pass by many devils, to keep company with angels;
and many angels, to keep company with God.

If I could save only two books of the Bible, I would save Luke and Romans.
If I could save only one book, I would save John.

To discover the reality of divinity, first learn the divinity of reality.
The wisdom of the earth is lofty in the underworld.

A wealthy person can never be charitable, for he is always a debtor. If he gives, it is to give back, and he never repays but a fraction of his debt. On the other hand, he who contents himself with only what the Lord has made is the most charitable of men. Everything he does not take, he already gives away.

God is found in silence. When we choose silence, we choose God; when we turn away from silence, we turn away from God. That's all we're doing, every moment; choosing the deep silence of sanctity, or choosing to distract ourselves with lesser things. That's all this life is. True goodness, inexhaustible calm, depth, strength of character -- all of this is available to us when we sacrifice the empty chatter, the internet, the television, the noise, and anxiety these things promote. If we don't chose silence, we chose all of this. We choose all of this.

"Be still and know God" -- means stillness is the only requirement in order to become convinced of, and acquainted with, the Holy Presence. Those who scoff at the notion of a divine reality are essentially, though unwittingly, confessing to never having experienced a moment of genuine stillness; never allowing their bodies, minds, and, finally, their souls to relax into the warm bath of sacred potential which surrounds us at all times. They are always running from one place to another, but think they know what is directly here. They are thinking only of the past and future, but think they know what happens now.

If the ascetics are hard, it is because we are soft. Thinking of our bodies, we call ourselves too weak for solitude, but thinking of their souls, they call themselves too weak for civil life. They abandon the world to enter the way. They are those who escape into war.

All this greed and superficial industry. How many see the absurdity? Countries on their way to war, waving white flags. The expert worse than the novice; schooled in mischief. The Stepford wives have wed, and bred, and spread over the globe. They're shopping at a store near you. And while wisdom is in short demand (rare as it is), everyone but the sage is employed. Now its the parasite who would lead us to paradise. Hounded and shut out from sight, our sage grows twisted in the rain. His every insight a gripe. Its only due to his inner light, that he insists on calling ours a Dark Age. And why not? Grandeur, now, is in the gutter, viewed askance. Our teeth are set against him who would preserve her. Our pitchforks ready at hand. All his splendor is repulsive to our eyes. Here, he gives us the philosopher's stone, and we stone him with it. There, he speaks to us of freedom, and we lock him in his coat. The world is ironwork, but he spins the stuff of dreams; esteems virtue herself, or in the subtlest dress. What do we know of his distress?

In our time, the general tendency is towards justice, and away from mercy. Nearly everywhere, the belief in freewill is carried so far as to assume that every man is a perfect master of himself. In reality, none of us are entirely in possession of ourselves. We often lose control, and a great many of us are like automatic weapons in the hands of infants; we can scarcely hold onto ourselves when we start "firing". What we call a lack of motivation, or a refusal to act, or an insistence upon following destructive patterns of behavior, can all be symptoms of an inability to train and focus restless energies upon a definite object. Even when we can pursue a particular aim to its end, we frequently discover that our aim was misguided from the start. Whether we believe it or not, we are infinitely bigger than ourselves. We do not know what makes us happy, or what is good for us, or what is right. We are the most complex machines we have ever encountered, and we don't even know how to work ourselves. Cosmic energies barrel through us, and we do our best to seem unperturbed. Without the common belief in man's ability to be responsible for himself, our whole society would crumble, like a face only held together by the mask it wears. This world is already in chaos, but the belief that our species is, at least, in control and holding it together (even if we don't always use our power in the best and wisest ways) prevents us from discovering this chaos, and preferring ruins. We ought to prefer ruins. Whether it is sooner or later, all human activity must someday reorient itself in an entirely new direction. We must learn humility. Developing a deeper respect for the power of fate would lead to a correspondingly wider sense of compassion, sympathy, mercy, pity, and love for ourselves and one another. This much may be within the scope of our power. We cannot remain in love much longer with the idyllic image of ourselves as the conquering hero. Nor can we hold to the reverse of that coin, which is our hatred for the enemy whose villainy we likewise imagine in caricature. We are fools, both. He knows not what he does, and neither do we. There is free will, yes, but far less than we like to suppose. Destiny has never lost the upper hand.

I imagined what I might say to God, and it occurred to me God might say many of the same things to me: "Accompany me," "Do not forsake me," "Be always in my thoughts," "Come quickly to my aid," "Have mercy on my infirmities," etc. For God, too, has thoughts -- exalted thoughts, which occupy a sphere of blessedness, and which we must endeavor to lift ourselves up into, in order to be cleansed of falsehood and iniquity. God, too, has infirmities and need of aid, for, as Christ, he is spread out upon the earth, in the form of the sick, the hungry, the lonely, and all those tormented and tested by dark spirits. In humility, God has made himself a servant, and even a patient in our care. What can we ask from heaven, which we cannot give to the least of our brothers and sisters on earth; and, thereby, give to God? He has privileged us to be healers and redeemers in our own right. He has granted us the supreme favor of walking in the footsteps of Christ, in order to uplift and encourage one another. If the Divine Power remains hidden from us, it must be a sign of the deepest respect and faith which He has for us; since He consider us worthy to perform His work in the world; to be His hands, His heart, His smile. The greatest gift He could have given us is to withdraw Himself, so that we might become like Him, in loving and serving one another.

Atheists resort to specific definitions, the conditions of which, they insist, God must fill, in order to exist. Then they speedily conclude that no God exists, when reality does not conform, in the most obvious ways, to these conditions which they themselves have insisted upon at the outset. Rather, let them begin in reality, and not outside of it. If they would base their notions of Divinity on solid ground, and begin exactly where they are, they may discover in the experience of the present moment, that there is nothing here which should not be deemed holy, -- or which is not protected and infused with an aura of holiness; a tenderness which seems to well-up from within and around all things, so to shower a kind of divine mercy upon them. It has the likeness and quality of mercy, because it blesses whatever seemed to lack blessings; alone, it imparts the dignity of blessedness to objects and entities which would are inauspicious in themselves, incapable of exalting themselves beyond the prosaic. It is only in the space of stillness that we begin to perceive all reality embraced and infused with God. Far from being a dream state, this is the peak of the waking state. As we grow still, we turn inward and attend most closely to the movements of visions and sentiments within. These grow increasingly beautiful, nuanced, delicate, refined, and full of significance. A fleeting sensation speaks volumes of scripture, and these holy sensations become the sole objects of our study. From the most concrete experience of what surrounds us, we end by speculating on the reality of something inherently subtle, fluid, dynamic, elusive, abstract, and remote. Something right under our noses, yet nowhere to be found. By imperceptible steps, we are drawn inexorably toward those joys which are more peaceful and expressive of meaning. It is enough to contemplate virtues, like flowers exhaling the subtlest perfumes we have come to love; sensations of purity and wholesomeness unmatched by any offering the vulgar world can make. Though, once, God could readily be found everywhere in the world, now, our customs are even too swarthy in the church (which is generally locked, whenever it is not filled with people all talking at the same time and saying little that is relevant to the ocassion). It is necessary to find oneself an isolated chapel, or, more often, a quiet closet, or a corner. The only altars left are in darkness. Society has become so loud, so hurried, clumsy, aggressive, and overloaded with self-important business. All our passion and ambition runs us ragged. Our minds work over barren ground. Is it any wonder, if even God has gotten kicked and overlooked, in this frenzy to make something ourselves, and to make something of ourselves? We can only learn stillness, to see what God makes, and makes of us.