Quotes About Transcendence

There is a level accessed in meditation that is beyond the neuron. This level has many names; one we could use is infinite awareness.

The old mystics were fond of saying that we are capax Dei, that is, capable of receiving and embodying divine life.

Mindset of the man too busy: I am too busy BEING God to become LIKE God.

It's freeing, to think that there's always an aspect of us outside the grasp of speech, the common stuff of language.

Then the bow orchestra began to play an apocalyptically beautiful canon, one of those pieces in which, surely, the composer simply transcribed what was given, and trembled in awe of the hand that was guiding him.

When you die, you know, you hear the insistent pounding that defines all things, whether of matter or energy, since there is nothing in the universe, really, but proportion.

How the holy and the profane mix in the light of day and at the end of life is sometimes the most beautiful thing in this world and a compassionate entry into the next. After failure and defeat, a concentration upon certain beauties, though forever lost and unretrievable, can lift the wounded past roundedness and the dying past dying, protecting them with an image, still and bright, that will ride with them on their long ride, never to fade and never to retreat.

For me, beauty is a hint, a flash, a glimpse of the divine and a promise that the world is good.

Even if one glimpses God, there are cuts and splinters and burns along the way.

These bodies are perishable, but the Dweller in these bodies is eternal. —BHAGAVAD-GITA

Breathe like a fallen leaf and think of nothing. Just breathe and let your heart and mind be carried, however briefly, by the spirit you can't quite see.

Now, I want only to give away all that I'm blessed to know and disappear in the stream.

To know God without being God-like is like trying to swim without entering water. —OREST BEDRIJ

Rohr said that dualistic thinking is necessary for us to live/survive, but there comes a point where it can go no further, it hits the ceiling, especially when it comes to describing spirituality or God.

You quit your house and country, quit your ship, and quit your companions in the tent, saying, "I am just going outside and may be some time." The light on the far side of the blizzard lures you. You walk, and one day you enter the spread heart of silence, where lands dissolve and seas become vapor and ices sublime under unknown stars. This is the end of the Via Negativa, the lightless edge where the slopes of knowledge dwindle, and love for its own sake, lacking an object, begins.

Could tiny birds be sifting through me right now, birds winging through the gaps between my cells, touching nothing, but quickening in my tissues, fleet?

All those things for which we have no words are lost.

I think that the dying pray at the last not please, but thank you, as a guest thanks his host at the door. Falling from airplanes the people are crying thank you, thank you, all the way down the air; and the cold carriages draw up for them on the rocks.

Byrn speaks and I understand him without effort, his words as clear as spring water. / Ask a favour of the plover, he says. Borrow her eyes. / Then I am flying through the air, and the flying is his song, and I am / the flying, and his words are golden ribbons scrolling about me, bearing / me along. I see the plover's wing and I am the plover. Suspended. / Above the moor. There is no longer any I, only All. / Simple. Vast. Unknown. / All to be forgot on waking, like dew on a spiderweb.

It was like a bird of rarest-spun heaven metal or like silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsense now.

And now, talking of praying, I realise sadly that there will be little point in praying for you. You are passing now to a region where you will be beyond the reach of the power of prayer.

She glided away towards the lift, which seemed hardly needed, with its earthly and mechanical paraphernalia, to bear her up to the higher levels.

I'm not a religious chap. I don't know anything about that sort of thing. But there must be something beyond all this sex business.' 'Yes.' 'You think so?' 'Oh yes. Quite likely. Why not?' 'But what?' 'I can't help.' 'You can't.

If he should wish it, she would make no difficulty of parting with the things around her. Of what concern were the prettinesses of life to one whose inner soul was hampered with such ugliness?