Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Thursday, July 27, 2017

beyond repair

“Who hurt you, once,
so far beyond repair
that you would meet each overture
with curling lip?
While we, who knew you well,
your friends, (the focus of your scorn)
could see your courage in the face of fear,
your wit, and thoughtfulness,
and will remember you
with something close to love.”

― Louise Penny, Bury Your Dead

When we do not believe in ourselves

We all we can feel is our failings
Our deficits

When all we can remember is the hurt
The loss
The times when we were judged “not enough”
And love faded
Or perhaps sprinted for the door

There are people
Angels perhaps

Who see the best in us
And think of us


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