Gate to all mystery

“At the source of our deepest self is a mysterious unknown ever eluding our grasp. We can never possess it except as that mystery which keeps at a distance. The heart’s quest is toward this unknown. There is no respite in the task of getting beyond the point we have already reached because the Spirit stands further on. She stands at the end of every road we may wish to travel by. The entire movement of our being seems to focus in this single point of identity, which will be realised in the encounter. We never ‘catch up with’ who we fundamentally are.”

The Feminist Mystic -Meinrad Craighead via sacredgraffiti

The people of old saw wells as gateways to the spirit world where the veils between human existence and the greater spirit become thinner, and communications could take place with the gods and goddesses of the nature religions. That this ‘old well’ has the purest and coldest of waters shows that wisdom and nourishment has not diminished over time. There is always a plentiful supply for those who draw on the well with the right attitude and with sincerity. — Lynda Hill

The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named is not the eternal name.
The named is the mother of the ten thousand things.
Ever desireless, one can see the mystery.
Ever desiring, one can see the manifestations.
These two spring from the same source but differ in name;
this appears as darkness.
Darkness within darkness.
The gate to all mystery….
– Lao Tsu, Tao Te Ching, 1

The valley spirit never dies;
It is the woman, primal mother.
Her gateway is the root of heaven and earth.
It is like a veil barely seen,
Use it; it will never fail.

– Tao Te Ching, 6

There is a point where in the mystery of existence contradictions meet; where movement is not all movement and stillness is not all stillness; where the idea and the form, the within and the without, are united; where infinite becomes finite, yet not” — Rabindranath Tagore

The mystical life is the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write. . . .” — William Butler Yeats

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