I was caught suddenly by a sweep of reverence, by a sensation that made me want to sink to my knees. For somehow I knew that I had stumbled upon an epiphany, a strange gracing of my darkness... That was the moment the knowledge descended into my heart and I understood. REALLY understood. Crisis, change, all the myriad upheavals that blister the spirit and leave us groping — they aren't voices simply of pain but also of creativity. And if we would only listen, we might hear such times as beckoning us to a season of waiting, to the place of fertile emptiness.
The symbolism of a sacred mountain is full of intimations of meditation. It is a state of strong immovability, of perfect balance; a state in which all motion hangs suspended, not in death or inertia but in that great stillness that is the origin and resolution of all things... Any mountain that is sacred is a symbol of the Centre: that point where divine reality impinges on profane reality. The true Centre, the real seat of the great mystery of ultimate reality, resides in our heart.