Quotes About Healing

We forgive but not forgotten

Having resentment against someone is like drinking poison and thinking it will kill your enemy.

But as I got closer to the car that would take me away, I realized that when I went through that gate, if I still hated them, they would still have me. I wanted to be free. And so I let it go.

Está na hora da homeopatia!

O velho reapareceu, cinco minutos depois, já recuperado. Pigarreou: — Vamos pôr uma pedra em cima disso, que é mais negócio. O que passou passou. Está na hora de dormir, pessoal. Então

Praise the Lord, O my soul; in my inmost being, I praise Your holy name. Praise the Lord, O my soul! We do not forget all Your benefits. For You are the One who forgives all our sins and heals all our diseases, who redeems our lives from the pit and crowns us with love and compassion, who satisfies our desires with good things so that our youth is renewed like the eagle's! . .

Words could hurt worse than any stone, and the bruises lasted longer. Harboring

Women could sit with grief, hold its hands, watch it pour from the eyes of friends and children, lie down beside it and help it to rest. Their delicate strength would weave a net strong as spun steel, keep the widow Castle from hitting bottom.

Forgiveness is, in fact, experiencing in imagination the revised version of the day, experiencing in imagination what you wish you had experienced in the flesh. Every time one really forgives - that is, every time one relives the event as it should have been lived - one is born again.

Forgiveness is, in fact, experiencing in imagination the revised version of the day, experiencing in imagination what you wish you had experienced in the flesh.

If I hold some thing against another, be it a belief of sickness, poverty, or anything else, I must loose it and let it go, not by using words of denial but by believing him to be what he desires to be. In that way I completely forgive him. I changed my concept of him. I had ought against him and I forgave him. Complete forgetfulness is forgiveness. If I do not forget then I have not forgiven.

I thought it best to just snap his heart across. Otherwise there are all these messy fragments.

And in just this way the days after my father's death became weeks became months in the familiar ceaseless cruelty of time, carrying us ever forward even when we sit still. Time does not pass, pain grows." (p.223)

We tell stories. We tell stories to pass the time, to leave the world for a while, or go more deeply into it. We tell stories to heal the pain of living.

Neither did she realise yet that grief is a kind of glue, too, that the essence of humanity is this empathy, and that we fall together in that moment of tenderest perception when we see and feel each other's wounds and know another's sorrow like a brother of our own.

Again, fix the outsides and maybe my insides won't be such a dark place.

It's like the world's gravitational pull has just lessened tenfold. Everything trapped in me, rushing in and out like the ocean against a jetty - pounding over and over, trying to crush the breaker wall with each rhythmic explosion - has finally been taken away. I cry for that and I'm not sure what else.

I buried it and buried it and turned away from everything light and sweet and delicate and lovely and became so scared and scarred and burdened and fucked up. But that goodness is there, inside---it must be. "Every day, in every way, It's getting better and better…" I let those words fall, wanting---wanting so bad to believe them.

Basically I've just really been trusting in the process here. I want it to work. I want to change and I actually have hope that it might be possible. A lot of this is due to some of the more intense alternative therapies they offer here, like Somatic Experiencing. Through these sessions I've been able to recall events from my childhood that I had completely suppressed from my memory.

It was that simple. I just forgot for a second how bad things had been. A disease of amnesia, right?

It's what the loss uncovers in you that brings on despair, not the loss itself.

Pauline had once said to me, after she was through the worst of her stunned unhappiness, that if you behave as if you are all right, then one day you will be.

How do you measure absence? There had been minutes that had become hours, and hours that had been like a desert with no horizon. There had been days dull and deadened as lead, and whole weeks when she'd had to force herself forward, inch by inch, across their expanse. How do you know when your heart is ready once more?

How do you ever get over the love of a child? How do you get beyond it?