Quotes by "Thomas Lloyd Qualls"

There are two paths for anyone who is seeking to learn that which is kept hidden. One is to initiate into a society, secret or not, with traditions that are well-established. The other is to seek one’s own path and to forge the way by trial and error. Either choice is dangerous. In order to master the mysteries of the universe, one must bridge heaven and earth. The bridge is a world in itself.

A dream is not what it seems. A dream cannot be bottled and sold. You cannot stake out the boundaries of a dream. You cannot record its title in your name. No photos can be taken of the dream world. And yet it is real.

The desert still has a memory of water. And that memory is a living thing. It is infused into the sand. It is part of its essence.

Everything must break open in order to live. The seed must break open in order for the tree to grow. The egg must break open in order for life to emerge. The Earth must be turned and the cloud must burst. You were never meant to stay in your shell.

Water knows no boundary. Though we may draw it on a map, say this is where the water starts and where it ends, it is not true. Water knows the way into the Great Mystery. It is not afraid of going underground. Water is not afraid of dams or dry creeks, bridges or brick walls. It is patient. Water understands time. It will find a way.

I like being out here. I like that people are, for the most part, at their best. They are open and alive. Conversation is not small or dull. We seem to be able to skip the pleasantries of how’s your day and get right into the meat of things. Maybe all travel opens us up like this.

If Gandhi were here, and he’d even bother to talk to me, he’d probably shake his head and ask me what I thought I was doing. He’d probably gently scold me and tell me that one does not become spiritually evolved simply by filling a Spiritual Places Passport with stamps.

He does not know where the words will lead. Nor can he direct their course.

Each cloud we burst, each moon we drum, each sun we dance is an essential part of the wheel. Though they are not the whole circle of our being. The whole is incalculable.

Beauty loves contradiction. Beauty is born of desire. And without beauty, there is nothing. Beauty is our keeper, our master, our reason. Beauty is illumination born of the dark.

The bright side of the moon could not exist without the half wrapped in shadow. A half-life is not substantial, not sustainable. You cannot cut out half your heart and live.

Is that like a dream journal? You ask. He nods. But these things really happen. He explains. Dreams really happen. You say.

The rain reminds him that one travels to sacred places in order to awaken that which lies sleeping within. He journeys on this path not to escape the world, but to enter it more deeply. Sometimes that is the only way we can open the doors to our own hearts, to realize that the whole of the earth lives inside the human heart.

If this is a dream, I hope I remember it.

Sometimes I have trouble telling my dreams from reality. The farther I travel from some experience, the more unsure I am that it actually happened. Just like a dream, the closer I am to it, the more sure I am that it's real.

From my low perch, I watch the world as it passes by on these dirty side streets. There are no westerners in this corner of the city. Just locals going about their business. Weighing out brightly colored spices, walking back from the fish market, stopping at the paan shop, socializing over tea. Old men in lungis and flip-flops walking hand in hand and dirty-faced children who are all bright smiles and wild eyes. I am comfortable here. Sitting on this board, in this tiny chai stall, hidden away from the recognizable world. For the moment, I have disappeared.