That which is sacred has no attributes. A stone in a temple, an image in a church, a symbol is not sacred. Man calls them sacred, something holy to be worshipped out of complicated urges, fears and longings. This ''sacredness'' is still within the field of thought; it is build up by thought and in thought there's nothing new or holy. Thought can put together the intricacies of systems, dogmas, beliefs and the images, symbols, it projects are no more holy than the blue-prints of a house or the design of a new aeroplane. All this is within the frontiers of thought and there is nothing sacred or mystical about this. Thought is matter and it can made into anything, ugly - beautiful.
But there's a sacredness which is not of thought, nor of a feeling resuscitated by thought. It is not recognizable by thought nor can it be utilized by thought. Thought cannot formulate it. But there's a sacredness, untouched by any symbol or word. It is not communicable. It is a fact.
A fact is to be seen and the seeing is not through the word. When a fact is interpreted, it ceases to be a fact; it becomes something entirely different. The seeing is of the highest importance. This seeing is out of time-space; it's immediate, instantaneous. And what's seen is never the same again. There's no again or in the meantime. This sacredness has no worshipper, the observer who meditates upon it. It's not in the market to be bought or sold. Like beauty, it cannot be seen through it's opposite for it has no opposite.
That presence is here, filling the room, spilling over the hills, beyond the waters, covering the earth.
Last night, as it has happened once or twice before, the body was just the organism and nothing else, functioning, empty and still.