22
" Let it be stated clearly that mysticism is an a-rational type of experience, and in some degree common to all men.
It is an intuitive, self-evident, self-recognized knowledge which comes fitfully to man. It should not be confounded with the instinctive and immediate knowledge possessed by animals and used by them in their adaptations to environment.
The average man seldom pays enough attention to his slight mystical experiences to profit or learn from them. Yet his need for them is evidenced by his incessant seeking for the thrills, sensations, uplifts, and so on, which he organizes for himself in so many ways--the religious way being only one of them. In fact, the failure of religion--in the West, at any rate--to teach true mysticism, and its overlaying of the deeply mystic nature of its teachings with a pseudo-rationalism and an unsound historicity may be the root cause for driving people to seek for things greater than they feel their individual selves to be in the many sensation-giving activities in the world today. "
― Paul Brunton , The Notebooks of Paul Brunton, the Ego: From Birth to Rebirth
24
" She needed Andrew Simpson Smith, it was that simple. And he had spent his life training to help people like her. Gods. " Okay, Andrew. But let's leave today. I'm in a hurry." " Of course. Today." He stroked the place where his slight beard was beginning to grow. " These ruins where your friends are waiting? Where are they?" Tally glances up at the sun, still low enough to indicate the eastern horizon. After a moment's calculation, she pointed off to the northwest, back toward the city and beyond that, the Rusty Ruins. " About a week's walk that way." " A week?" " That means seven days." " Yes, I know the gods' calendar," he said huffily. " But a whole week?" " Yeah. That's not so far, is it?" The hunters had been tireless on their march the night before. He shook his head, an awed expression on his face. " But that is beyond the edge of the world. "
33
" Love, now that was dangerous. It plucks your heart out of your chest cavity and throws it into the skies where all you can do is watch it freefall towards the object of your love, and hope he or she would catch it. And very often your heart would land with a sordid, painful thud on the ground, or worse, a ditch, and lie there forlorn, neglected and pitiful until you found it, picked it up, glued the various parts back together and put it back into your chest where it would continue to beat on, stolidly, with only you knowing that there was a beat missing. A beat audible to no discerning ear, but your own, a slight sense of being out of tune with yourself, a heart that beat reluctantly, for the sake of keeping up appearances, in the forlorn hope that some day it would get back in rhythm, that some day it would have something to beat for. And then, over the years of missing a beat, you would grown irretrievably out of beat with yourself, and end up discordant. "
― Kiran Manral , The Face At the Window
35
" But what I would like to know," says Albert, " is whether there would not have been a war if the Kaiser had said No." " I'm sure there would," I interject, " he was against it from the first." " Well, if not him alone, then perhaps if twenty or thirty people in the world had said No." " That's probable," I agree, " but they damned well said Yes." " It's queer, when one thinks about it," goes on Kropp, " we are here to protect our fatherland. And the French are over there to protect their fatherland. Now who's in the right?" " Perhaps both," say I without believing it." Yes, well now," pursues Albert, and I see that he means to drive me into a corner, " but our professors and parsons and newspapers say that we are the only ones that are right, and let's hope so;--but the French professors and parsons and newspapers say that the right is on their side, now what about that?" " That I don't know," I say, " but whichever way it is there's war all the same and every month more countries coming in." Tjaden reappears. He is still quite excited and again joins the conversation, wondering just how a war gets started." Mostly by one country badly offending another," answers Albert with a slight air of superiority.Then Tjaden pretends to be obtuse. " A country? I don't follow. A mountain in Germany cannot offend a mountain in France. Or a river, or a wood, or a field of wheat." " Are you really as stupid as that, or are you just pulling my leg?" growls Kropp, " I don't mean that at all. One people offends the other--" " Then I haven't any business here at all," replies Tjaden, " I don't feel myself offended." " Well, let me tell you," says Albert sourly, " it doesn't apply to tramps like you." " Then I can be going home right away," retorts Tjaden, and we all laugh, " Ach, man! he means the people as a whole, the State--" exclaims Mller." State, State" --Tjaden snaps his fingers contemptuously, " Gendarmes, police, taxes, that's your State;--if that's what you are talking about, no, thank you." " That's right," says Kat, " you've said something for once, Tjaden. State and home-country, there's a big difference." " But they go together," insists Kropp, " without the State there wouldn't be any home-country." " True, but just you consider, almost all of us are simple folk. And in France, too, the majority of men are labourers, workmen, or poor clerks. Now just why would a French blacksmith or a French shoemaker want to attack us? No, it is merely the rulers. I had never seen a Frenchman before I came here, and it will be just the same with the majority of Frenchmen as regards us. They weren't asked about it any more than we were." " Then what exactly is the war for?" asks Tjaden.Kat shrugs his shoulders. " There must be some people to whom the war is useful." " Well, I'm not one of them," grins Tjaden." Not you, nor anybody else here." " Who are they then?" persists Tjaden. " It isn't any use to the Kaiser either. He has everything he can want already." " I'm not so sure about that," contradicts Kat, " he has not had a war up till now. And every full-grown emperor requires at least one war, otherwise he would not become famous. You look in your school books." " And generals too," adds Detering, " they become famous through war." " Even more famous than emperors," adds Kat." There are other people back behind there who profit by the war, that's certain," growls Detering." I think it is more of a kind of fever," says Albert. " No one in particular wants it, and then all at once there it is. We didn't want the war, the others say the same thing--and yet half the world is in it all the same. "
37
" Whatever happened to our dreams? The infinite possibilities each day holds should stagger the mind. The sheer number of experiences I could have is uncountable, breathtaking, and I'm sitting here refreshing my inbox. We live trapped in loops, reliving a few days over and over, and we envision only a handful of paths laid out ahead of us. We see the same things each day, we respond the same way, we think the same thoughts, each day a slight variation on the last, every moment smoothly following the gentle curves of societal norms. We act like if we just get through today, tomorrow our dreams will come back to us. And no, I don't have all the answers. I don't know how to jolt myself into seeing what each moment could become. But I do know one thing: the solution doesn't involve watering down my every little idea and creative impulse for the sake of someday easing my fit into a mold. It doesn't involve tempering my life to better fit someone's expectations. It doesn't involve constantly holding back for fear of shaking things up. This is very important, so I want to say it as clearly as I can: FUCK. THAT. SHIT. "
― Randall Munroe