The many things of this world are a trial appointed by God, for they hide the single reality, There is a saying, that the saint is One, human kind is a hundred, meaning the saint's whole attention remains upon the one truth, while people are scattered over a hundred appearances.
But which Hundred? Which Fifty? Which Sixty? Lost in this world of mirrored reflections, they are faceless people without hands and feet, without mind and soul, quivering like a magic talisman, like quick-silver or mercury.
Call them sixty, a hundred or a thousand, they are nothing, but the Saint is a thousand.
But which Hundred? Which Fifty? Which Sixty? Lost in this world of mirrored reflections, they are faceless people without hands and feet, without mind and soul, quivering like a magic talisman, like quick-silver or mercury.
Call them sixty, a hundred or a thousand, they are nothing, but the Saint is a thousand.
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