I think of the trees and how simply they let go, let fall the riches of a season, how without grief (it seems) they can let go and go deep into their roots for renewal and sleep.... Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go.
Everything that slows us down and forces patience, everything that sets us back into the slow circles of nature, is a help. Gardening is an instrument of grace.
I always forget how important the empty days are, how important it may be sometimes not to expect to produce anything, even a few lines in a journal. A day when one has not pushed oneself to the limit seems a damaged damaging day, a sinful day. Not so! The most valuable thing one can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of a room.
I would like to believe when I die that I have given myself away like a tree that sows seed every spring and never counts the loss, because it is not loss, it is adding to future life. It is the tree's way of being. Strongly rooted perhaps, but spilling out its treasure on the wind.
Without darkness, nothing comes to birth, As without light, nothing flowers.
We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.
There are some griefs so loud/They could bring down the sky/And there are griefs so still/None knows how deep they lie.
One thing is certain, and I have always known it - the joys of my life have nothing to do with age. They do not change. Flowers, the morning and evening light, music, poetry, silence, the goldfinches darting about
Read between the lines.Then meet me in the silence if you can.
What is destructive is impatience, haste, expecting too much too fast.
It is only when we can believe that we are creating the soul that life has any meaning, but when we can believe it - and I do and always have - then there is nothing we do that is without meaning and nothing that we suffer that does not hold the seed of creation in it.
Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self.
One of the good elements of old age is that we no longer have to prove anything, to ourselves or to anyone else. We are what we are.
The most valuable thing we can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of room, not try to be or do anything whatever.
It is the place of renewal and of safety, where for a little while there will be no harm or attack and, while every sense is nourished, the soul rests.
It is sometimes the most fragile things that have the power to endure and become sources of strength.
Now I become myself. It’s taken time, many years and places.
Joy, happiness ... we do not question. They are beyond question, maybe. A matter of being. But pain forces us to think, and to make connections ... to discover what has been happening to cause it. And, curiously enough, pain draws us to other human beings in a significant way, whereas joy or happiness to some extent, isolates.
... if one does not have wild dreams of achievement, there is no spur even to get the dishes washed. One must think like a hero to behave like a merely decent human being.
When you change the way you look at a thing, the thing itself changes...By mastering feelings, she had come to understand the meaning of discipline and its reward: freedom and power.
Most people have to talk so they won't hear.
People who cannot feel punish those who do.
Flowers and plants are silent presences. They nourish every sense except the ear.
It is, I assume, quite easy to wither into old age, and hard to grow into it.
Whatever peace I know rests in the natural world, in feeling myself a part of it, even in a small way.
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