Everyday epiphanies

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Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world

John Milton

The right attitude

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This is the real secret of life  

to be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now.

And instead of calling it work, realize it is play

Alan Watts

photo vatobob

Seeing the magic today

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The world is full of magic things

patiently waiting for our senses to get sharper

wb Yeats

 

Darkness and light

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One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light,

but by making the darkness conscious

Jung

Today is Lá Féile Bríde, St. Brigid’s Day,  celebrated on the ancient Celtic festival of Imbolc, a word meaning perhaps “in the womb”, and linked with the feminine, fertility and the birth of lambs.  The Celts were much more in touch with the rhythms of nature and with symbols than we are, and so lit fires in the darkness to mark the fact that they had arrived at the midway point between the winter and the spring solstice. They celebrated the lengthening days and the early signs of Spring,  in a declaration of trust that the darkness of winter was not going to last. It was the start of a period of planting and birth: a time for looking forward and beginning again. For us too, some form of death and rebirth is always happening in our inner selves, even if we are unaware of it.   We are never really in just one place, but always somewhat in-between, re-working our own myths and adding depth and meaning to our journey.

For last year’s words
belong to last year’s language
and next year’s words
await another voice.

And to make an end
is to make a beginning

T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding

Sunday Quote: Waking up

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It is a serious thing

just to be alive

on this fresh morning

in the broken world.

Mary Oliver

photo sharon mollerus

Focus on the now

killeshin

We are endlessly offered into life: all time is ours.
And what any one of us might be worth,
death alone knows – and does not tell.

Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus, II, 24