I stand forever directly at the edge of an extraordinary inner mystery.
For as long as I cling to my presumptions, I will always remain at that edge; and little will cross over into me. But the minute I forget everything of what I know, forgot even myself, and give myself to the inner structure that exists apart from my mind—the organic structure—I enter that mystery; and that mystery enters me. We are not indistinct; we interpenetrate one another.
We are one.
This is a higher authority which I must submit to. I do so quite willingly, when I encounter it; because it emanates from a love and a joy that I wish to be part of. Yet if I want to submit to this authority, I can't set my own agenda. And even when I encounter this higher authority, immediately, because we are together, my ordinary parts think they know something about it, that they can be the authority. Those parts want to have control; and I want to do things, perform actions with this energy, because they presume they know what to do.
There is an irony in this that I need to see. The energy itself makes it quite clear that I don't have the authority or the understanding, the instant that it arrives; so why do these presumptions and assumptions persist in the face of it? They are a testament to the strength of the ego, and its determination to survive at all costs, even in the face of the obvious. Because the ego is the very essence of selfishness — they are not distinct, selfishness and egoism — it will lie about absolutely anything in order to have its way. And if I don't begin to see that I am like that in every circumstance where I am dominated by my ego, then I don't learn very much.
In any event, my contact with the inner mystery has to be unplanned. I can plan to make myself available, to be open to a possibility; but that's all. The possibility has to be sufficient unto itself, not programmed by my agendas.