Save your strength to swim with the tide. The choice to fight what is here before you now will only result in struggle, fear, and desperate attempts to flee from the very energy you long for. Let go. Let it all go and flow with the grace that washes through your days whether you received it gently or with all your quills raised to defend against invaders.
Running Over Rocks : Spiritual Practices to Transform Tough Times - cesssuwildlessnal.ml
Take this on faith; the mind may never find the explanations that it seeks, but you will move forward nonetheless. Let it all go and find the place of rest and peace, and certain transformation. There are moments when rules are meant to be broken; when bursting out of context is the sole way to see with new eyes.
There are fences built only to be torn down. The slats look solid, but no one drove the nails in tight. There are barricades around the heart asking to be breached. Sooner or later we all run out of excuses for staying small and safe. Let go of something, somewhere. Use yoga to become aware, to touch what lies beneath the surface of the skin. Is there tension longing for release; a knot of fear so deep and familiar that you believe it's part of who you are? Ease into dark corners, locked rooms, unexplored hallways. Gain entry not by force or will but only by softness. Enter on the wings of breath, and turn the key of self-acceptance to let go of something, somewhere.
What weight can you put down right now, willingly relinquishing the pointed quills of guilt or judgment? What burden of the heart can lift, what dark corner can be lit, the candle flickering at first, then burning bright? Offer this one gift: the simple sacrifice that in the giving sets you free to fully live. This is what I have to stay to you. You know all that you need to know. You already are all that you need to be. It remains only for you to recognize and acknowledge who you are, what you know, and the powerful presence that is awake within you.
You think of yourself as fragile, but you are, in fact, strong. You sometimes feel alone, but you are, in truth, connected through Spirit to all beings.
Running Over Rocks: Spiritual Practices to Transform Tough Times
Believe in this connection. Believe in yourself. That is all you need to do, for all is well. One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice- though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles.
But you didn't stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible.
Spirituality, Change & Patience
It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do- determined to save the only life you could save. After rain after many days without rain, it stays cool, private and cleansed, under the trees, and the dampness there, married now to gravity, falls branch to branch, leaf to leaf, down to the ground where it will disappear — but not, of course, vanish except to our eyes.
The roots of the oaks will have their share, and the white threads of the grasses, and the cushion of moss; a few drops, round as pearls, will enter the mole's tunnel; and soon so many small stones, buried for a thousand years, will feel themselves being touched. Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean-the one who the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down - who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day.
Golden Eyes Spiritual Meaning
Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
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Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting — over and over announcing your place in the family of things. The sky cleared I was standing under a tree. My work is loving the world.
https://aceelarhol.gq Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird — equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums. Here the clam deep in the speckled sand. Are my boots old? Is my coat torn? Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work,.
The phoebe, the delphinium. The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture. Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,.
Running Over Rocks: Spiritual Practices to Transform Tough Times
I was walking by. He was sitting there. It was full morning, so the heat was heavy on his sand-colored head and his webbed feet. I squatted beside him, at the edge of the path. He didn't move. I began to talk. I talked about summer, and about time.
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The pleasures of eating, the terrors of the night. About this cup we call a life. About happiness. And how good it feels, the heat of the sun between the shoulder blades. He looked neither up nor down, which didn't necessarily mean he was either afraid or asleep. I felt his energy, stored under his tongue perhaps, and behind his bulging eyes. I talked about how the world seems to me, five feet tall, the blue sky all around my head. I said, I wondered how it seemed to him, down there, intimate with the dust.
He might have been Buddha — did not move, blink, or frown, not a tear fell from those gold-rimmed eyes as the refined anguish of language passed over him. What lay on the road was no mere handful of snake. It was the copperhead at last, golden under the street lamp. I hope to see everything in this world before I die. I knelt on the road and stared. Its head was wedge-shaped and fell back to the unexpected slimness of neck. The body itself was thick, tense, electric.
Where these had, oh, such shyness, this one had none. When I moved a little, it turned and clamped its eyes on mine; then it jerked toward me.