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" . . .the body is different from the soul, and when you come to the consciousness of not possessing your body, then there is no trouble."

The musk deer runs wildly about, madly looking everywhere for the intense scent. Everywhere, that is, except within himself.

"I’m forty-seven. Aging is an undesirable part of my life. I have felt the allure of trying to salvage youthfulness with hair dyes and skin creams. . ."

"We cannot see even the mind and intelligence, so how can we see the soul? But the soul has his existence, his magnitude. . ."

Our daily lives are like a play—one in which we're so absorbed in our temporary roles that we've completely forgotten our offstage identities.

Making sure I had his attention, I said, “Parameshvara, do you know you’re not your body?”
“I’m not?” he exclaimed in amazement. He looked at me expectantly, awaiting explanation.

". . . in learning about our bodies—heart, lungs, brain, muscles, veins, arteries—we never asked ourselves, 'Which part makes the body alive?'"

How did we get into this cycle of reincarnation in the first place? How many times do I have to reincarnate? How exactly does the soul transmigrate from one body to another?

In 1977, a television station in England broadcast a live program that viewers are likely to remember for a long time.

"When she was a year and a half old, she used to cradle a pillow or a block of wood in her arms and address it as 'Minu.' Minu, she said, was her daughter. . ."