A new feeling arises,
a completely welcome feeling
that expresses a deep realization.
I feel I am finally arriving home.
This mystery, this majesty, is my home, my original place.
It is what my heart longs for and loves more than anything else.
I realize I have always loved this mystery,
and always longed to melt into it,
even though I did not know consciously what I loved
and longed for.
I knew I loved the truth,
but I was not aware that the truth is ultimately this inexplicable reality.
I see that I have always felt exiled,
that I have always been seeking to return home.
We cannot find truth through anybody else. How can we?
Truth is not something static;
it has no fixed abode;
it is not an end, a goal.
On the contrary, it is living, dynamic, alert, alive.
How can it be an end?
If truth is a fixed point it is no longer truth;
it is then a mere opinion
Truth, God or what we will,
is not something to be experienced,
for the experiencer is the result of time,
the result of memory, of the past,
and so long as there is the experiencer there cannot be reality.
There is reality only when the mind is completely free
from the analyses from the experiencer
and the experienced.
The creative can come into being only when the mind itself is new;
and the mind can renew itself only
when it is capable of seeing all its own activities