Our suffering often comes, not from events themselves, but from the narratives we build around them, a process that almost always places our “self” at the center of the universe
I should be content to look at a mountain for what it is and not as a comment on my life.
A nice poem for the weather we are having these days on this island on the edge of Europe. Insight deepens when we resist the urge to prematurely close meaning, allowing complexity to speak in its own time.
How would it be to allow for knowing
and not knowing: allowing room
for the mystery of creating
to be able to wonder softly
without needing to understand everything
to trust in the process, to trust in love
to trust in the mystery and wonder
of the universe
that beats softly wildly
true, all round about us,
that is hidden in the mistsin the clouds and the rain
in the wind blowing and the rain lashing down on your window,