The masses of humanity, it would seem, simply grow old with little change in their interior lives. They grow up and grow old in vain. Others grow their entire lives. They blossom, from early childhood into their older years. I don't believe that anyone need to be aged and at death's door before approaching--indeed realizing--the ultimate.
I am convinced that there are millions of people who have glimpsed the summit of life, among whom realization has blossomed. I believe it is a naturally occurring life process. Rare, yes, but not that rare.
Striving to climb the sheer face of self-perfection,
dreaming of liberation from our flaws,
we feel that they eclipse us.
Yet with persistence we move toward our summit--
found at our innermost core--
as we shed, in jeweled chrysalises, our old selves,
metamorphosing flaws into monarchs' flights!
At the ultimate level--which is really this level--
perfection blossoms within the realm of imperfection.
The drive toward self-perfection is love transmuted into action.
