Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise
From outward things, what'ere you may believe.
There is an inmost centre in us all,
Where truth abides in fulness; and around,
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,
This perfect, clear perception -- which is truth ...
and to KNOW,
Rather consists in opening out a way
Whence the imprisoned splendor may escape,
Than in effecting entry for a light
Supposed to be without.
It is the most supremely interesting moment in life, the only one in fact when living seems life, and
I count in the greatest good fortune to have these few months so full of interest and instruction in
the knowledge of my approaching death. It is as simple as one's own person as any fact of nature,
the fall of a leaf or the blooming of a rose, and I have a delicious consciousness, ever present, of
wide spaces close at hand, and whisperings of release in the air.