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297 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1962
The Dao touches us with a touch that is emptiness and empties us. The Dao moves us with a simplicity that simplifies us. All variety, all complexity, all paradox, all multiplicity cease. Our mind swims in the air of an understanding, a reality that is dark and serene and includes in itself everything. Nothing more is desired. Nothing more is wanting. Our only sorrow, is sorrow be possible at all, is the awareness that we ourselves still live outside The Dao.
The Dao is (like) the emptiness of a vessel; and in our employment of it we must be on our guard against all fulness. How deep and unfathomable it is, as if it were the Honoured Ancestor of all things! We should blunt our sharp points, and unravel the complications of things; we should attemper our brightness, and bring ourselves into agreement with the obscurity of others. How pure and still the Dao is, as if it would ever so continue! I do not know whose son it is. It might appear to have been before God.
is a more profound depth of faith, a knowledge too deep to be grasped by images, in words or even in clear concepts. It can be suggested by words, by symbols but in the very moment of trying to indicate what it knows the contemplative mind takes back what it has said, and denies what it has affirmed. For in contemplation we know by "unknowning." Or, better we know beyond all knowing or "unknowing."(Pages 1 - 2 ).
If you can never make up your mind what God wills for you, but are always veering from one opinion to another, from one practice to another, from one method to another, it may be an indication that you are trying to get around God's will and do your own with a quiet conscience.(Pages 260 - 61).
. . .
You are always making resolutions and breaking them by counterresolutions. You ask your confessor and do not remember the answers. Before you finish one book, you begin another, and with every book you read you change the whole plan of your interior life.
Soon you will have no interior life at all. Your whole existence will be a patchwork of confused desires and day dreams and velleities in which you do nothing except defeat the work of grace . . . .