Memories identify with themselves, the original collectors.

The future precedes the past. Consign memory to the future when it hasn't yet happened.

Where magic ends death begins.

Identification can only be with the unreal. The Real cannot be identified. You are That. And beyond it.

I call this universe my slave.

We are all just beginning.

Even Death will hesitate to discourage me.

I am leaving the world of myself behind.

It is the raw untransmuted material of Love: THE CUBE IS UNCREATED LOVE.

All the rapid instructions have stopped making sense!

A place where the Universe sleeps without dreaming.

Prior to this identification with the body, you must recede into that. You must recede into the not knowingness when you are awake.

Stop searching and see the sand, boiled by Light burned to glass - Honour that reflection, smash it and search no more.

On the borderline of the manifest and unmanifest, The Progenitor.

The empty nothing of the soul sunk into that nothingness can actually be saved.

I am not closed in; I am torn apart and that is my beauty: I'm broken, evenly.

The Epitaph of Maya

The Body

The Only Freedom Lies In The Ability To Not Exist.

The Strangest Thing