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And from that I concluded, among other things, that the art of reflection is one that is worthy of discussion and perhaps practice in your life. To reflect means to set time aside to think clearly and deeply about the choices you make in your life and their long-term consequences. You reflect on the past and present influences in your life and the stress factors as well as your values, all of which are constantly evolving. Time to reflect allows you to consciously slow down these influences so that you can assess the impact they are having on your life, and make decisions about what changes you need to make as the years go by.

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Perhaps you want to become more creative or get your body in shape before it really is too late. Time spent in reflection is the opposite of acting in panic or without thinking. The Multitasker is a product of the high-end energy culture we live in that values the art of speed: constantly communicating with someone via Blackberry, cell phone, and laptop computer.

The promise of the techno-world is that everything can be done not only better, but also faster and faster and faster — without thought, introspection, or time to reflect on the consequence of the actions initiated by all this high-end, light-speed technology. I think it detracts from the capacity to think deeply about what you are doing and, perhaps more importantly, why you are doing it. For me, the time had come to withdraw from an adoration of doing things faster and more efficiently to choosing what I want to do with more thoughtfulness and care. A part of this is the result of growing older; of that, I have no doubt.

Reflections of Soul by Queen Of Spades

These are thoughts worthy of reflection. How shall I use this day? What thoughts shall I dwell upon this day? Who will I meet this day? What surprises does life have in store for me today? The Divine is in the shadows and in the silence and in the noise. It is for you to notice the design of the events of your life and to reflect on the meaning and significance of that design on each particular day — for each design will never come again. Poetry is the perfect companion for the practice of reflection as it lifts your soul and helps you to withdraw from ordinary life. Poetry inspires and enchants you with a weave of words and perceptions that can make chills run down your spine.

Emily Dickinson, the great mystic-poet, is my favorite. As long as I can I will laugh with the birds, I will sing with the flowers, I will pray to the stars, for both of us. A rule book that says it is all right to wake up crying, but only for a month. That after 42 days you will no longer turn with your heart racing, certain you have heard her call out your name. That there will be no fine imposed if you feel the need to clean out her desk; take down her artwork from the refrigerator; turn over a school portrait as you pass - if only because it cuts you fresh again to see it.

That it's okay to measure the time she has been gone, the way we once measured her birthdays. They come when a person has relaxed enough to let go and to work through his sorrow. They are the natural bleeding of an emotional wound, carrying the poison out of the system. Here lies the road to recovery. Alexander Magoun "When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time - the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers.

Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes - when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she's gone, forever - there comes another day, and another specifically missing part. Each time you feel a gentle breeze, it's my hand caressing your face. Each time the wind blows, it carries my voice whispering your name. When the wind blows your hair ever so slightly, think of it as me pushing a few stray hairs back in place. When you feel a few raindrops fall on your face, it's me placing soft kisses.

At night look up in the sky and see the stars shining so brightly. I'm one of those stars and I'm winking at you and smiling with delight. For never forget, you're the apple of my eye. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. Do you know what it feels like to lead with your own, so that its warmth precedes you and tenderly touches the essence of life before you?

Do you know love yet, or are you still wandering the corridors, trying different doors, searching? Are you still afraid that the light may burn your eyes? Oh how I pray that one day you might let down your guard and slip into something real, that you may know the tenderness, feel the firm but gentle grip of Love in all her glory. I dare you to walk through the flames and discover yourself fully, fantastically alive on the other side. Only then will you truly know her, only then will you know what it means to drown in an ocean only to discover that you breathe water.

I used to think that the millions of little stories we live and those we tell were disconnected, spontaneous, a result of chaos and the overriding power of will. I used to think these things but now I know. Now I know that, not only does it all have meaning and purpose, but it also follows a pre-ordained path — the kind that hasmany decision points but that, in the end, will always lead you to one of two ends. A path of love or a path of fear. The path of heaven or the path of hell.


Now I can see the signposts everywhere I look, little winks and nudges from the universe. I used to think that the answer was force. I used to think that the way was lonely. I used to think this world was chaos. Now I know that the answer is flow. Now I know that the way is together.

Now I know that this world is love. If you love him and enjoy his company, if he can meet you in your depth of spirit, in your heart and intellect, if he can grow with you as a partner and friend, then go for it because of those things. Only you have the magic to break that spell — the one that makes you appear smaller than you are. Only you have the power to unlock your inner universe, to realize that you contain multitudes, that everything you could ever need is already within you waiting only to be unleashed.

There is just love and the expression of love. So go ahead and receive it as if it were meant for you. Do you see now, beloved, that they are all for you? Accept them. Gather them up like precious little jewels and disperse them in your own fashion everywhere you go — for you are the world and the world is an expression of love. Be at one with it and you will know riches beyond your wildest dreams.

That mystery will always pull me in and compel me to take a deeper look. Our story will live on, because the earth herself holds it close to her heart. Every plant that we grew holds a piece of us forever in its flesh, and every shell that we admired has our fingerprints on its skin. It lives in the oceans where we allowed ourselves to be washed away and it sits forever in the bellies of raindrops that mimic our tears.

The stars that we wished upon will always remember, even after time and age have had their ways; and the winds will carry our love on their wings forever, even as all the rest fades slowly away. It could never really end because, you see, nothing ever does. It lives in everything, donning scraps of stories stitched together to create the most exquisite of gowns. Look for it. Look for it in the ocean and in the moonlight, in the heavy branches of trees and the songs of the morning birds. I hear them repeat this and I wonder. Things like happy tears and nervous laughs, falling in love and broken hearts, the trials of growth and the blessing of pain, like the thousands of days that lead to a single smile, or the millions of people that contribute to one collective step.

Other people are like autumn leaves, sheets of poetry, knit sweaters, and oak trees. Some are like blue skies and blank canvases, white-tipped waves and puffy clouds; while still others are like polished cherry, wine glasses, and heavy musical notes under soft, golden lights. Maybe love is a bit like being a student of art, getting lost in the mystique and drinking in the atmosphere that makes someone who they are.

There is such splendor, such sublimity in every little thing. There are wings fluttering and spirits dancing, mystics chanting and forests whispering, if only you know how to listen. And there are such glorious sensations meandering, roaming, rambling, flittering, and dancing upon the very air! Oh how I wish I could help you see that this is it.

Short Inspirational Poems By Queen Bilqis | Summer 12222

This is the paradise that you so long for. All you have to do is open your heart to feel it, open your eyes to see it, open yourself up and breathe. Just be still and look, listen, and breathe. You are the spirit that survived. You are the deep roots that continued to grow beneath the surface even when you were outwardly rejected. You are the life that went on despite being mowed over time and time again.

You are the beauty that remained, waiting patiently for the right time to bloom. And now, because you held on even when the world turned away, your strength and compassion are the kind that know no end. You, my dear, are so much more than enough. You are exceptional — because you survived, because you beat the odds, because you are a warrior, a self-taught healer, and because now you have become a beacon of hope for others who suffered like you. As they dreamt about her naked body, he was excited by the prospect of her slipping off that mask and revealing her naked soul.

While other women were assessing his physical strength, she was impressed by the strength of his spirit and entranced by the way he flexed his intellectual muscles. While they raucously sought his attention with verse and vice, she silently seduced his spirit to sing and then relished the way that his song softly serenated her soul.

When he met her with the penetrating force of his sincerity, her heart opened and melted in perfect vulnerability. Only then, after all of their secrets were spent and their spirits completely dissolved into one another, did he finally lean in to kiss her for the very first time. Once free from restraints, you can explore. Once free from expectation, you can appreciate. Once free from belief, you can learn. Once free from fear, you can love. As far back as I can remember, I was fighting battles to win that freedom and some were oh so fierce — but none quite so brutal as those I fought to win it, not from others, but from myself.

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I need to take my time. I need time to observe, to assess, to understand, and yes even to correct my thoughts before I let them flow out into the world. I need time because I understand and respect the power of words.

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Grab a hold of it. Run it through the purifying flame of your heart and mold it into something beautiful. Allow the depths of your pain to expand the breadth of your compassion. Gather up your stumbling stones and build a bridge for someone else. Let it rise to the surface. And then transform it into something that makes it worthwhile. No longer can the world be neatly divided into good and bad, light and shadow, beautiful and ugly. We slowly begin to realize that all things are playing an important role, sustaining the whole beautiful cycle — a lot like the way that all of the various plants, animals, minerals, and molds contribute to the health of the entire forest.

We realize that things are so much more than we once gave them credit for. What was once just a tree reveals itself to be a living presence stretching her arms and fingers high in the air, forever reaching closer to heaven. The wind becomes more than just the movement of air; it whispers to and caresses our souls. Unsightly weeds and unkempt grasses become windows through which the laughter of God echoes out; and roadside puddles offer a glimpse of Divine artistry in action as a myriad of colors reflect off their surface.

The world remains the same, but because our perspective has changed, so also does the way we see, understand, and relate to it. May they feel the brief kiss of remembrance within their hearts, there and then gone again, passing like a spring breeze, so that they suddenly know the things they have done for others, in so many ways big and small, seen and unseen alike, somewhere are known and treasured. The world needs more beautiful souls like yours who choose to see the beauty in their scars, who dare to forgive, to take their great big hearts and turn them inside out and give themselves the same kind of compassion that they give to others.

Only then will we switch from powerless consumers of life to the artisans of our own experience.

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We dance in groups and then in solitude. We switch partners and we change speeds. At times we become so lost in the flow, so comfortable with our rhythm, that we seem to float above the floor. At others we stumble, our music stutters, and sometimes we even fall. But even among all of this movement, there is a kind of synchronicity. Even when our dances and our songs are at odds, when we bump into one another or we abruptly change rhythm, everything seems to flow. It all comes together, and even the missteps begin to seem as if they are part of a larger dance. True happiness is found by filling it, and purpose is fulfilled by pouring it out.

Maybe there are wings resting atop the shoulders of everyday people that, in countless little ways, peek out just long enough for us to get a glimpse. Maybe, just maybe, we see them all the time but we just fail to notice. Even those that shake you, like the harsh winds of fall shake the trees, for they help you drop unnecessary things. And even those that feel like they chill you almost to death, like the winter cold does to the once vibrant flower, for they cleanse and ready you for the beauty of your coming spring.

No matter how fierce the storm, she remains steady and true; always offering up the knowledge we need without charge. Uncolored by the egos of men, she can show us in her green leaves, blue skies, and clear waters what we cannot see within ourselves. Only when you become spiritually aware will you be able to illuminate these webs and see the connections.

But once you do see it, you will never again be able to overlook it. You will never forget the way that every last strand gently vibrates across the entire web when you touch just one little corner. It inspires both a sense of humility and of power that will stay with you forever. The beauty, the passion, and the magic of true awareness is overwhelming, but you cannot look away — because suddenly seeing something so intricate where before you saw nothing is the kind of miracle that will stay with you forever, changing everything about how you see the world and how you see yourself in it.

This is what it means to look through the eyes of the spirit, to see reality as it truly is behind the filter of physical form. The more that we develop this spiritual sight, the more that we will start to see depth in what once seemed shallow and beauty in what before seemed mundane.