Outside
Having forgotten all my reasons for writing, I write till I remember again.
Trees do not know the alphabet.
The unspeakable horrors that go on inside beautiful houses.
There is no beginning for those who don’t know how to begin.
Always telling stories about each other.
Everything in the middle nothing in the center.
What was really in Pandora’s box? A smudged mirror.
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Language turns us all into liars.
Wisdom is nothing but a quiet appetite for space and silence.
Laziness now a necessary virtue.
The mind flatters itself for giving the world meaning it doesn’t need.
The father is always a stranger.
And if I stopped watching myself, what would be left?
To know oneself is to know nothing.
May I be forgiven for what I do not know—and even more for what I do.
Wherever there is suffering, ask: who is enjoying this suffering?
How many more times do I have to repeat myself before I empty myself of self?
No, I (who?) no longer mean what I said, nor do I mean what I am saying, nor will I mean what I am going to say.
What is ecstasy? Interbliss!