“Words have not been made to describe the state of meditation. Language allows us to bite around the edges, to nibble and taste, but never to report the essence. But still we try. Like a dream, neve...”

“I remembered Patels words, Surrender is not giving up, it is worship. Show me how to step, I said, so that it pleases you. Make me one with you and also this land. Be with me.”

“It comes back all at once: a woman on a beach, a tree, a wind that calms, a rain that cleanses, but does not wet.”

“His youth carried his words and lit the room with an optimism. India is like our home, he said, our spiritual home. Even before we get here there was that feeling.”

“Above us was a canopy, the stretching arms of cedar and spruce and Douglas fir. We knew to follow in silence, watching our steps, heads bowed. We were in a temple.”

“I remembered Patel’s words, “Surrender is not giving up, it is worship.” “Show me how to step,” I said, “so that it pleases you. Make me one with you and also this land. Be with me.”

“My name is Salmon, like the fish; first name, Susie. I was fourteen when I was murdered.”

“Who is John Galt?”

“I come from Des Moines. Somebody had to.”

“But who can remember pain, once its over? All that remains of it is a shadow, not in the mind even, in the flesh. Pain marks you, but too deep to see. Out of sight, out of mind.”

“I know what you are learning to endure. There is nothing to be done. Make sure nothing is wasted. Take notes. Remember it all, every insult, every tear. Tattoo it on the inside of your mind. In lif...”

“My mind, I know, I can prove, hovers on hummingbird wings. It hovers and it churns. And when it's operating at full thrust, the churning does not stop. The machines do not rest, the systems rarely ...”