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“An artist is one who has mastered the art of dissolving himself through his works!”
Ramana Pemmaraju“An artist is one who has mastered the art of dissolving himself so completely that only his work remains!”
Ramana Pemmaraju“And like tea dissolving in hot water, the sun dissolved in the sky… creating a velvet horizon, announcing for the stars’ night dance with the moon, the awaited joy for the wounded souls. -- From Bali – The Rebirth”
Abeer Allan“Why does Eleanor let you have that much acid?" he asked. "Why would you want that much acid? You don't need that much acid.""Except that it appears I do, since I have just enough to dissolve a human body, and we have a human body in need of dissolving," said Jack. "Everything happens for a reason. And Eleanor didn't 'let' me have this much acid. I sort of collected it on my own. For a rainy day.""What were you expecting it to rain?" said Christopher. "Bears?”
Seanan McGuire, Every Heart a Doorway“The great spiritual tension between the contemplative life of the monk andspiritual activism in the world dissolves entirely with one word—namaste: thelight in me bows to the light in you.When meditation reveals the light in ourselves, we naturally want to bow tothe light in all beings—to act on their behalf in reverence and devotion.When we truly see the light in another being, our own light shines forth, dissolving the seemingly eternal ache in our hearts and the near constant struggle of the ego mind. To see the light in one being—your own light or thatof another—is to win the cosmic game of hide and seek and ease the suffering of the world.”
Darren Main, The River of Wisdom: Reflections on Yoga, Meditation, and Mindful Living“I'm like a machine being run over its RPM limit: The bearings are overheating - a minute longer, and the metal is going to melt and start dripping and that'll be the end of everything. I need a quick splash of cold water, logic. I pour it on in buckets, but the logic hisses on the hot bearings and dissipates in the air as a fleeting white mist. Well, of course, it's clear that you can't establish a function without taking into account what its limit is. And it's also clear that what I felt yesterday, that stupid "dissolving in the universe," if you take it to its limit, is death. Because that's exactly what death is - the fullest possible dissolving of myself into the universe. Hence, if we let L stand for love and D for death, then L = f (D), i.e., love and death...”
Yevgeny Zamyatin, We“I made spasmodic efforts to work, assuring myself that once I began working I would forget her. The difficulty was in beginning. There was a feeling of weakness, a sort of powerlessness now, as though I were about to be ill but was never quite ill enough, as though I were about to come down with something I did not quite come down with. It seemed to me that for the first time in my life I had been in love, and had lost, because of the grudgingness of my heart, the possibility of having what, too late, I now thought I wanted. What was it that all my life I had so carefully guarded myself against? What was it that I had felt so threatened me? My suffering, which seemed to me to be a strict consequence of having guarded myself so long, appeared to me as a kind of punishment, and this moment, which I was now enduring, as something which had been delayed for half a lifetime. I was experincing, apparently, an obscure crisis of some kind. My world acquired a tendency to crumble as easily as a soda cracker. I found myself horribly susceptible to small animals, ribbons in the hair of little girls, songs played late at night over lonely radios. It became particularly dangerous for me to go near movies in which crippled girls were healed by the unselfish love of impoverished bellhops. I had become excessively tender to all the more obvious evidences of the frailness of existence; I was capable of dissolving at the least kind word, and self-pity, in inexhaustible doses, lay close to my outraged surface. I moved painfully, an ambulatory case, mysteriously injured.”
Alfred Hayes, In Love“For life, too, is only an instant,Only the dissolving of ourselvesIn the selves of all othersAs if bestowing a gift –”
Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago“The world around me is dissolving leaving here and there spots of time. The world is a cancer eating itself away.”
Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer