A person can stand in the holiest place and still be shut out from it, not by any locked door, but by what he carries in. The old resentments, the running commentary in the head, the sense of a wounded self that must be defended: this is the uncleanness upon him. It travels with him wherever he goes, and it screens him from the one thing the sacred offers, which is the living stillness of this moment.
Being cut off from presence is never a punishment sent from outside. The mind, crowded and clinging, simply cannot receive what is already here. When a person finally lays the weight down, presence returns on its own. It had not left. It was hidden behind the noise he mistook for himself.