Tag: Joy

Not waiting for life to begin

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Dance in the body you have.

Agnes de Mille

What matters

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You don’t find peace on a mountain or in a cave;
you can travel to the place of the Buddha’s enlightenment
without getting closer to enlightenment.
What matters is being aware wherever you are, whatever you’re doing.

Ajahn Chah

Aware of Seeing

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snowdropHappiness is the cessation of suffering. It is well-being. For instance, when I practice this exercise of breathing in, I’m aware of my eyes; breathing out, I smile to my eyes and realize that they are still in good condition. There is a paradise of form and colors in the world. And because you have eyes still in good condition, you can get in touch with the paradise. So when I become aware of my eyes, I touch one of the conditions of happiness. And when I touch it, happiness comes.

Thich Nhat Hahn

Sunday Quote: Within

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Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful,

we must carry it with us or we find it not.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Out from behind our curtain…

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When we examine this experience of opening, we find that we are expressing a part of ourselves that we may tend to overlook: we are expressing our ability to trust ourselves completely. In order to open — in meditation and in life in general — we must let go of our familiar thoughts and emotions, we must step out from behind the safe curtain of our inner rehearsals and onto the stage of reality, even if it’s for just a brief moment. When we open on the cushion, we renounce our attachment to our emotional security blanket, over and over again. We drop our pretense and our story lines and stand naked in the midst of uncertainty — the very essence of confidence itself.

Michael Carroll

Living with all our strength

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Just yesterday I watched an ant crossing a path, through the
tumbled pine needles she toiled.
And I thought: she will never live another life but this one.
And I thought: if she lives her life with all her strength
is she not wonderful and wise?
And I continued this up the miraculous pyramid of everything until I came to myself.

Mary Oliver, Reckless Poem