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What is it about the quiet that makes me tingle? What is it about stillness that is rippled only by my breathing, and even that is very still? I know I am a soft thing. I like this about myself. Soft things are gentle but have a presence based on some interior quality that is not weak. I am a quietness in the midst of something that is home to my many parts and beings. I am a soft thing safe in a wonderment of aliveness. Never hurried; never lost. Never alone, but safe in a room so rosy warm that my worries can only turn out to be the flat, faded flowers on an old torn wallpaper, and nothing more. I live in weathered walls built merely from ‘borrowed’ fears. I am not searching for knowledge. I stand on clarity and let the echoes from a sweeter understanding hold me gently without restraint…..Arlene Graston
unveil the secrets of the heart to know the seen and the unseen….to reflect the whole….can we be open enough to understand our indifference when the heart is strangled? can we know why? the dimensionless side of us isn’t known until we hold our ailing heart as a precious secret….
the subtle refinement of self and Self……
Anyone who has probed the inner life, who has sat in silence long enough to experience the stillness of the mind behind its apparent noise, is faced with a mystery. Apart from all the outer attractions of life in the world, there exists at the center of human consciousness something quite satisfying in itself, a beauty without features. The mystery is not so much that these two dimensions exist- an outer world and the mystery of the inner world- but that we are suspended between them- as a space in which both worlds meet. It is as if the human being is the meeting point, the threshold between two worlds. To be unaware of this mystery of inwardness is to be incomplete…….Kabir Helminski
where do you land in heart time? where do virtue and blame dissolve?
The Himalayan legend says
there are beautiful white birds
that live completely in flight.
They are born in the air,
must learn to fly before falling
and die also in their flying.
Maybe you have been born
into such a life
with the bottom dropping out.
Maybe gravity is claiming you
and you feel
ghost-scripted.
For the one who lives inside the fall,
the sky beneath the sky of all.
….Jennifer Sweeney
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