Myths are so intimately bound to culture, time, and place that unless the symbols, the metaphors, are kept alive by constant recreation through the arts, the life just slips away from them.
The seizure of passionate love can be, in such a context, only illicit, breaking in upon the order of one’s dutiful life in virtue as a devastating storm.
Let the world be as it is and learn to rock with the waves.
Essentially, mythologies are enormous poems that are renditions of insights, giving some sense of the marvel, the miracle and wonder of life.
What you have to do, you do with play. The universe is God’s play.
We are kept out of the Garden by our own fear and desire in relation to what we think to be the goods of our life.
The warrior’s approach is to say ‘yes’ to life: ‘yes’ to it all.
The goal is to live with God like composure on the full rush of energy, like Dionysus riding the leopard, without being torn to pieces.
The departure from the world is regarded not as a fault, but as the first step into that noble path at the remotest turn of which illumination is to be won.
Myths are clues to the spiritual potentialities of the human life.
If you are on the right path you will find that invisible hands are helping.
Perhaps some of us have to go through dark and devious ways before we can find the river of peace or the highroad to the soul’s destination.
All the old bindings are broken. Cosmological centers now are anywhere and everywhere. The earth is a heavenly body, most beautiful of all, and all poetry is now archaic that fails to match the wonder of this view.
Poetry comes out of an elite experience, the experience of people whose ears are opened to the song of the universe.
The myth does not point to a fact; the myth points beyond facts to something that informs the fact.
God is within you! You yourself are the creator. If you find that place within you from which you brought this thing about, you will be able to live with it and affirm it, perhaps even enjoy it, as your life.
Both the artist and the lover know that perfection is not loveable. It is the clumsiness of a fault that makes a person lovable.
The Navajo have that wonderful image of what they call the pollen path. The Navajo say, ‘Oh, beauty before me, beauty behind me, beauty to the right of me, beauty to the left of me, beauty above me, beauty below me, I’m on the pollen path.’
Life will always be sorrowful. We can’t change it, but we can change our attitude toward it.
He who thinks he knows, doesn’t know. He who knows that he doesn’t know, knows.