I think there’s this level of intimacy that you crave in your daily life, that you find so naturally when you’re traveling, but at the same time you’re a complete stranger, and you’ll never see or speak to this person again. That’s something that I think is beautiful and magical, but at the same time so sad. I want to find this intimacy, but in a context that is not so transient. I think that’s much harder.
I can do nothing for you but work on myself. You can do nothing for me but work on yourself.
~ Ram Dass
I have noticed that when all the lights are on, people tend to talk about what they are doing – their outer lives. Sitting round in candlelight or firelight, people start to talk about how they are feeling – their inner lives. They speak subjectively, they argue less, there are longer pauses. To sit alone without any electric light is curiously creative. I have my best ideas at dawn or at nightfall, but not if I switch on the lights – then I start thinking about projects, deadlines, demands, and the shadows and shapes of the house become objects, not suggestions, things that need to done, not a background to thought.
∆ Why I adore the night, by Jeanette Winterson
Running water is beautiful water. So be a channel. If anything comes, pass it on. Don't cling. (Sri Swami Satchidananda)
Take it from me: memory is your greatest ally and your primary source material, because memory is your body as it was in the world and the world as it was and will be; memory is the people you have loved or wanted to love in the world, and what are we if not bodies filled with reminiscences about all those ghosts in the sunlight?
∆ Hilton Als, “Ghosts In Sunlight,“ The New York Review of Books (10 July 2014)