Sometimes ~ Thich Nhat Hhan


Thich Nhat Hhan

Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile,
but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.


Today’s Reflection ~ Sing, Love, & Dance

Go out in the world and work like money doesn’t matter, sing as if no one is listening, love as if you have never been hurt, and dance as if no one is watching. ~ Victor Hugo

The Coming of Light ~ Mark Strand

Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light. 
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves, 
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows, 
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine 
and tomorrow’s dust flares into breath. 

Shadows ~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

“I am sorry in the gladness
   Of the joys that crown my days,
For the souls that sit in sadness
   Or walk uninviting ways.

On the radiance of my labour
   That a loving fate bestowed,
Falls the shadow of my neighbour,
   Crushed beneath a thankless load.

As the canticle of pleasure
   From my lovelit altar rolls,
There is one discordant measure,
   As I think of homeless souls.

And I know that grim old story,
   Preached from pulpits, is not so,
For no God could sit in glory
   And see sinners writhe below.

In that great eternal Centre
   Where all human life has birth,
Boundless love and pity enter
   And flow downward to the earth.

And all souls in sin or sorrow
   Are but passing through the night,
And I know on some to-morrow
   God will love them into light.”

Joy ~ Buddha

Let us live in joy, not hating those who hate us. 
Among those who hate us, we live free of hate. 
Let us live in joy, 
free from disease among those who are diseased. 
Among those who are diseased, let us live free of disease. 
Let us live in joy, free from greed among the greedy. 
Among those who are greedy, we live free of greed. 
Let us live in joy, though we possess nothing. 
Let us live feeding on joy, like the bright gods.

Is It Raining Little Flower ~ Anonymous

Is it raining, little flower?

    Be glad of rain.

  Too much sun would wither thee,

    ‘Twill shine again.

  The sky is very black, ’tis true,

    But just behind it shines

      The blue.

  Art thou weary, tender heart?

    Be glad of pain;

  In sorrow the sweetest things will grow

    As flowers in the rain.

  God watches and thou wilt have sun

    When clouds their perfect work

      Have done.