Wisdom’s fire is burning. I am feeding the flame. No use sorrowing more. All perishable pleasures, all temporary aspirations, I am using as faggots to feed the Eternal fire of knowledge. The old cherished logs of desire, which I had saved to fashion furniture of pleasures, I also cast into the hungry flames.
Ah, my ancient ambitions are crackling joyously to the touch of God’s flame. Ah, my ancient home of passions, of possessions, of incarnations, of many Kingdoms of my fancy, of many air castles of my dreams – all have touched this fire of my own kindling.
I am beholding this blaze, not with sadness, but with joy, for that fire has not only burned my home of matters, but all the sorrow-haunted buildings of my fancy. I am glad beyond the wealth of kings. I am King of myself. Not a fancy-enslaved king of possessions. I have nothing, yet I am a King of my own imperishable Kingdom of Peace. I am no longer a slave serving my fears of possible losses. I have nothing to lose. I am enthroned in perennial satisfaction. I am a real King.
— January 1933