I Have Discovered That My Freedom Is

He Sees The Land Of Meaning, And One Path To It, And The So-called “normal” People Traveling Swiftly And In Comfort To The Land; He Does Not Include The Shipwrecked People Who Arrive By Devious Lonely Routes, And The Many Who Dwell In The Land In The Beginning.

When Our Thoughts Revolve We Are So Often Deceived Into Supposing That Their Violent Movement Is An Indication Of Their Vigorous Originality, The Upheaval Of Prejudice And Fixed Ideas, When All The Time It Is More Likely That The Machine Which Contains Them Is Only An Elaborate Cement-mixer, And When The Thinking Is Finished, Those Whirling Thoughts Are Smoothed Into The Unchanged Conventional Mould And Seeing Them Set Solid Enough To Dance, To Build, To Travel Upon, We Would Never Dream Of Their First Deceit, Of The Hope Once Roused By Their Apparently Violent Reorganisation.

Life Is Hell, But At Least There Are Prizes. Or So One Thought.

There Is No Past Or Future. Using Tenses To Divide Time Is Like Making Chalk Marks On Water.

Possibility Was Not A Bag Or Box That Could Be Closed And Sealed, It Was A Vast Open Chute Which Received Everything, Everything; One Could Not Choose Or Direct Or Destroy The Powerful Flow Of Possibility.