Healing the hearts contractions from love can be a lifelong endeavour.

But for many of us who have been fractured in spirit, it must be said that there is a medicine to be retrieved from exile.

That medicine,
the treasure lost and recovered,
is one that might otherwise never be known.

If you can stand fully in your own unbelonging
and become friendly with the terrors of loneliness and exclusion,

you can no longer be governed by the avoidance of them.

In other words……



Belonging. Remembering Ourselves Home by Toko-pa Turner

Hokusai Says: By Roger Keyes (inspired by Japanese artist)

Hokusai says
Look carefully.

He says pay attention, notice.
He says keep looking, stay curious.
He says there is no end to seeing.

He says look forward to getting old.
He says keep changing,
you just get more who you really are.
He says get stuck, accept it, repeat yourself
as long as it’s interesting.

He says keep doing what you love.

He says keep praying.
He says everyone of us is a child,
everyone of us is ancient,
everyone of us has a body.
He says everyone of us is frightened.
He says everyone of us has to live with fear.

He says everything is alive-
shells, buildings, people, fish, mountains, trees.
Wood is alive.
Water is alive.
Everything has it’s own life.
Everything lives inside us.
He says live with the world inside you.

He says it doesn’t matter if you draw, or
write books.
It doesn’t matter if you saw wood, or
catch fish.
It doesn’t matter if you sit at home
and stare at th wants on your verandah
or the shadows of the trees,
and grasses in your garden.
It doesn’t matter that you care.

It matters that you feel.

It matters that you notice.

It matters that life lives through you.
Contentment is life living through you.
Satisfaction and strength are
life living through you.
Peace is life living through you.

Don’t be afraid.
Look, feel, let life take you by the hand.

Let life live through you.

The Wood Cutter
( Max Lucado “ In the Eye of the Storm”)
Once there was an old man who lived in a tiny village. Although poor, he was envied by all, for he owned a beautiful white horse. Even the king coveted his treasure. A horse like this had never been seen before – such was it’s splendour, it’s majesty, it’s strength. Read All

There is a special light in late August. The sky is the bluest blue and the sun the most golden yellow.  There is a quietness and softness in the air.  And every year I feel a kind of homesickness.  A  longing.  Maybe for times past.  Read All