“Cherry blossoms filling the ground,
Sunset filling my eyes:
Blossoms vanished, spring old,
I feel the passing years.
When blossoms were at their finest I neglected to call.
The blossoms did not betray me.
I betrayed the blossoms.”

“Mind is continuously rationalizing, and sometimes it may appear that what it is saying is right, because it gives arguments for it. But one has to be aware of one’s own mind, because in this world nobody can cheat you more than your own mind.

Your greatest enemy is within you, just as your greatest friend is also within you.

The greatest enemy is just your first encounter, and your greatest friend is going to be your last encounter – so don’t be prevented by any experience of the body or the mind or the heart.

Remember always one of the famous statements of Gautam Buddha. He used to conclude his sermons every day with the same two words, “Charaiveti, charaiveti.” Those two simple words – just one word repeated twice – mean “Don’t stop, go on, go on.”

Osho, The Golden Future

Whom can I ask what I came

to make happen in this world?

Why do I move without wanting to,

why am I not able to sit still?

Why do I go rolling without wheels,

flying without wings or feathers,

And what did Idecide to migrate

if my bones live in Chile?

Pablo Neruda, The Book Of Questions.

When i see the sea once more

will the sea have seen or not seen me?

Why do the waves ask me

the same questions I ask them?

And why do they strike the rock

with so much wasted passion?

Dont they get tired of repeating

their declaration to the sand?

The Book of Questions.

Who ordered me to tear down

the doors of my own pride?

The Book of Questions

Why was I not born mysterious?

Why did I grow up without companions?

The Book of Questions

“How mysterious!
The lotus remains unstained
By its muddy roots,
Delivering shimmering
Bright jewels from common dew.”

“It is not necessary to whistle

to be alone,

to live in the dark.

Out in the crowd, under the wide sky,

we remember our separate selves,

the intimate self,the naked self,

the only self who knows how the nails grow,

who knows how his own silence is made

and his own poor words.

There is a public Perdro,

seen in the light, an adequate Bernice,

but inside,

underneath age and clothing,

we still don’t have a name,

we are quite different.

Eyes don’t close only in order to sleep,

but so as not to see the same sky.

We soon grow tired,

and as if they were sounding the bell

to call us to school,

we return to the hidden flower,

to the bone, the half- hidden root,

and there we suddenly are,

we are the pure forgotten self,

the true being

within the four walls of our singular skin,

between the two points of living and dying.”

It is not Necessary, From Isla Negra

“And is where space ends

called death or infinity?”

The Book of Questions

” Is the yellow of the forest

the same as last year’s?”

The Book of Questions