Thursday Re-View: “You Are Enough”

You Are Enough

~ Rev. Dr. Kenneth W. Collier ~


You are enough.

You are a beautiful human being.
You have a personality, a humanity, a way of being
that is yours and no one else’s,
and that makes you precious and loved and loveable.

You are enough.

You are something of unique and inestimable value.
Within your own heart there is a sparkling,
twinkling light of worth, dignity, beauty, and love.

You are enough.

You do not need to become someone else.
You do not need to imitate this person or that one,
no matter how famous, talented or privileged
they may happen to be.
You do not need this person’s intelligence or
that person’s talent or another person’s wealth.
And you do not need any other person to become like you.

There is only one thing that you need.

You need yourself.
You need to become yourself.
You need to imitate yourself.
You need to love yourself.

You are enough.


Beannacht – A New Year Blessing by John O’Donohue


Beannacht – A New Year Blessing
~ John O’Donohue ~

On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.

And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets into you,
May a flock of colours,
Indigo, red, green
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
In the currach of thought
And a stain of ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the waters
A path of yellow moonlight
To bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
Wind work these words
Of love around you,
An invisible cloak
To mind your life.

Gone From My Sight

Gone From My Sight
~ Henry Van Dyke ~

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says, “There, she is gone!”

“Gone where?”

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone at my side says, “There, she is gone!” there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!”

And that is dying…

ship III


This is My Wish For You

This is My Wish For You
by Charles Livingston Snell

This is my wish for you…

That the spirit of beauty may continually hover about you
and fold you close within the tenderness of her wings.

That each beautiful and gracious thing in life
may be unto you as a symbol of good for your soul’s delight.

That your soul may be as an alabaster cup,
filled to overflowing with the mystical wine of beauty and love.

That happiness may put her arms around you,
and wisdom make your soul serene.

This is my wish for you.



Thursday Re-View — “Dancing with Chopin”

Occasionally, I will post “Thursday Re-View,” a post from when I first started my blog that you may have missed. Enjoy!


Dancing with Chopin

Classical music? I was never a devoted fan, but one of my patients changed all that, enough so that whenever I hear Chopin, she is all around me.

Victoria was a middle-aged woman, petite, cultured, attractive – a lady in the truest sense of the word. She was devoted to her husband, her adult children, and Chopin. When I met her, she had suffered with ovarian cancer for 3 years (a feat in itself), and after exhausting traditional and alternative medicine treatment regimens, her only hope lay in getting included in a clinical trial, which was by no means certain.

She came to her first session wearing a designer suit, heels, a perfect manicure and a beautifully coiffed wig. She exuded poise and sophistication. Victoria chatted for a bit in a conversational manner, almost like she was at a social event. Suddenly, she stopped, then took a deep breath. Her words came out in a rush. “I never thought about dying.”

I sat, silent. She paused, struggled for breath and begged, “Don’t make me say that again.” She dug into her purse, found a small bottle and asked my permission to sip. The dark blue liquid, a derivative of the potent narcotic morphine, helped settle her labored breathing. She sat, her eyes filled with quiet fear. It seemed as if those words had been torn from her against her will, and now, she wanted nothing more than to take them back.

I assured her we did not have to “go there,” and we moved to safer ground.

At Victoria’s next visit, she chatted only briefly before the quiet fear returned. Her eyes welled up with tears, and as she dabbed them with a lace handkerchief, she apologized. I quietly remarked that whatever feelings she had were okay. She looked at me in disbelief, her voice quivering. “You mean I can cry?”

Pain pierced my heart and I could only nod. With that, Victoria covered her face with her hands, leaned into her lap and sobbed, her body rocking back and forth, wracked with grief. I wanted nothing more than to reach across the space between us and hold her, comfort her; the depth of her emotional pain was palpable. Instead, I visualized holding her as she cried. I could literally feel someone else’s arms (…wings?…) on top of mine, holding us in a Circle of Grace.

In this shared moment, we dwelt on sacred ground. No interventions other than love, compassion and presence were needed. It was enough to simply be with Victoria.

The following week, Victoria came into the room with renewed energy, a huge smile and a torrent of words. It was as if a dam had broken somewhere in the deepest part of her, and everything that had been buried, was now free. She announced that she was no longer afraid to die, and went on to describe a recent dream. In it, God introduced Victoria to her soul. She described it as a whirling, white mass of energy that spun round and round so quickly that it emitted shooting, golden sparks. Her eyes shone with excitement and her smile seemed even bigger. Victoria seemed almost childlike with the wonder of meeting her soul. “Best of all,” she confided, “my soul danced.”

My excitement mirrored hers. I recalled the woman of last week, who cried because with her tumors, she could no longer remember how to play Chopin on her piano. I had to ask. “Your soul; was it dancing to Chopin?”

“Yes,” she answered quietly, her eyes meeting mine, filled with a new-found peace. “Yes.”

I pictured her dancing effortlessly, joyous and cancer free, as the chords of Chopin echoed all around us.

Not quite 2 weeks later, when Victoria missed her appointment, I sought out her oncologist for an update. Victoria had taken a sudden turn for the worse, and was in the hospice unit on another floor. Almost as an afterthought, the doctor added that she only had a few days left. I went directly to her room, where her husband and adult children were keeping vigil around her bed. When I hesitated, her husband told Victoria that I was there, and she motioned me toward her side. She had lost more weight, and every movement seemed a huge effort.

I took her hand and looked at her, unable to speak for the tears. Her eyes met mine with a wisdom and peace that suited her, a mantle she wore comfortably and with her usual elegance.

She gently pulled me closer and whispered, “I love you.”

I just shook my head, still unable to say a word. With all the strength I could muster, I squeezed her hand. “Chopin – you will be dancing to Chopin…”

Victoria smiled as she nodded her assent, then closed her eyes. Even this small exchange left her spent.

I leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for the gift of you, Victoria. Our time together has been a privilege, and I keep you in my heart,” I said quietly. Having said my good-bye, I turned and left.

Be well, Victoria, and move on with my gratitude, blessings and love. Your soul graced this earth with beauty and brightness. You will be missed. You will be remembered.

Dance with abandon.

And thank you for introducing me to Chopin…

Sacred ground. So many moments in our lives, unaware, we dwell on sacred ground.


Speak to Us of Children — Kahlil Gibran

gibran arrow

~ Kahlil Gibran ~

Your children are not your children.
They are sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,

which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.


If You Want His Answer

If You Want His Answer
by Paramahansa Yogananda

Whether He replies or not,
keep calling Him —
ever calling in the chamber
of continuous prayer.

Whether He comes or not,
believe He is ever approaching
nearer to you
with each command of your heart’s love.

Whether He answers or not,
keep entreating Him.
Even if He makes no reply
in the way you expect,
ever know that in some subtle way
He will respond.

In the darkness of your deepest prayers,
know that with you He is playing

And in the midst of the dance of life, disease and death,
if you keep calling Him,
undepressed by His seeming silence,
you will receive His answer.