Truth Cannot Be Exact

On 14 July (1961), the day after his arrival (Saanen, Switzerland), he wrote in his notebook: "The urge for the repetition of experience, however pleasant, beautiful, fruitful, is the soil in which sorrow grows." And two days later he wrote:

"The whole process went on most of the night; it was rather intense. How much can the body stand! The whole body was quivering and, this morning, woke up with the head shaking.
      There was, this morning that peculiar sacredness, filling the room. It had great penetrating power, entering into every corner of one's being, filling, cleansing, making everything of itself. The other felt it to (Vanda). It's the thing that every human craves for and because they crave for it, it eludes them. The monk, the priest, the sanyasi torture their bodies and their character in their longing for this but it evades them. For it cannot be bought; neither sacrifice, virtue nor prayer can bring this love. All seeking, all asking must wholly cease.
      Truth cannot be exact. What can be measured is not truth. That which is not living can be measured and its height be found."