What you read here: more than a worldview, and less than a religion.
It is more than a worldview, because it is not a way of seeing things, but a way of feeling things at their common root.
Less than a religion, because it does not speak of divine mysteries, which can only be spoken of in symbols. It has no mention of Christ, God incarnate, who dies and goes to hell for men.
What is said here is not meant to be believed, but to remind you of your true being, your true world.
Csönge, 1944-45
Words are separate and pearl-like, things are connected and pile-like. Therefore, words and things just brush against each other.
Thought is complex and unspeakable, truth is simple and unspeakable. Truth can be known only without speech, and therefore only from yourself. Make your soul capable of knowing the truth in it.
There is something that remains unchanged.
The essence of everything is this unchanging.
If I get rid of all the eventualities: there is nothing left of me but the same.
Whole existence: life-less.
Whole eternity: time-less.
Whole functioning: change-less.
Power total: power-less.
Whole wisdom: thought-less.
Whole love: feeling-less.
Whole goodness: direction-less.
Complete happiness: joy-less.
Full vibration: sound-less.
Those who wear their names as clothes, hide their heads under their wings, retreat into their dreams.
The rainbow bridge is the only one where angels and devils come and go in such a way that you can hardly tell them apart.
The lamp cannot see its own light. Honey does not feel its own sweetness.
A single feeling obscures everything. A single sound deafens everything. A single word obscures everything. Yet: the way is through feeling, hearing, and speaking.
"I am a woman", radiates the flower; "I am a flower", radiates the woman. "I am a man", emanates the trunk of the creating tree; "I am the trunk of the creating tree", emanates the man.
If you want to question it: the rose disappears behind its fragrance, its colour, its form; the fruit tree opens up. If you want to enjoy it: the rose unfolds; the fruit tree disappears behind its fruit.
Everyone feeds on hell, even if they are growing towards heaven.
A bright face looks out over the forest-covered valley. The tarn answers like a woman.
How perfect-brilliant are all the things of life, only he who no longer desires them knows truly. A robber-murderer, when he kills his victim without mercy, is in such communion with him as never he was in bed; without knowing it, he kills not his victim, but himself; he who realizes this is not horrified, but filled with awe. Or think of the merchant, who piles up money as if the wealth he accumulates would lead somewhere, would be sufficient somewhere: he fights the impossible, a pariah confronts the universe. And that women are beautiful is known only to those who no longer desire them: as the beauty and delicacy of a bone is seen not by the dog that wishes to chew it, but by the man who does not wish to chew it.
It's better to live on a mountain than in a valley. But how rich the valley is, my soul, how rich.
Once I was watching a young chariot, not with my eyes, but with my ears, for there was a wall of boards between us. I had known him long ago: a lad of sixteen, simple-minded, full of a corn-colour glow of the senses, which filled him with a sort of incorruptible gaiety; what he coveted he stole, if he could, without his action being touched; the stern power no more asked him what he had taken from whence or why than it did the bird. I listened to this fowl with my ears; he wanted to talk to his elder waggoner companion, he urged him long, but he did not answer, he was asleep. Then the lad began to sing, "I drink, I always drink, my wife is angry with me..." Of course, he didn't have a drink, by all means he didn't have a wife. He had only desire, desire brings one down, wisdom says; yet desire lifted him up, for there was nothing to bring him down, for he was on the ground from the beginning. And his desire carried him not only to the drink, not only to the wife, but far beyond, when they were old married men quarreling, and the wife was roasting him for the drink.
The angel can fly no higher than this male beetle flew from one blade of grass to another.