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Mindfulness Quotes

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Mindfulness Quotes

“It’s easy, of course, to buzz the beach and find the sparkle on good days—days when the sun is shining and your heart is light. When it gets really hard, though, that’s when you start to understand that it’s a discipline, and you need it in the dark so much more desperately than you need it in the light. Joy and celebration are practices for the long haul. Whenever possible, walk out of your way for a few minutes, and take a few deep breaths somewhere beautiful. Whether that's a forest clearing, or a french bakery, or a path through a prairie, or a cobblestone street. Take the long way sometimes, reveling in the discovery of beauty, noticing everything you can. What it smells like, and the slant of the light, and how the sounds remind you of recess, or Rome, or Grand Rapids.”

“This is the attitude of bodhisattvas: to practice meditation not only for yourself, but for the world, to relieve the suffering. And, when others suffer less, you suffer less. When you suffer less, they suffer less. That is interbeing. There is no separation between yourself and others. You do not live just for yourself; you live for other people. Your peace, freedom, and joy also profit others; you are already helpful. And so, when you breathe mindfully or walk mindfully and create joy and peace, that is already a gift for the world.”

“Doesn't Mr. Allan preach magnificent sermons? Mrs. Lynde says he is improving every day and the first thing we know some city church will gobble him up and then we'll be left and have to turn to and break in another green peacher. But I don't see the use of meeting trouble halfway, do you, Marilla? I think it would be better just to enjoy Mr. Allan while we have him.”

“Some say the point of meditation is to get an empty mind and to not think about anything. I'd say that is pretty much impossible and sounds like an attempt to replace the escapism of not being present with another one: getting rid of thinking and feeling. For me, personally, meditation has been a powerful training in not escaping from the present moment.”

“Sonnet of Luxury Serenity shrinks as luxury grows, While you pay moderation no heed. Disparity is not a matter of economics, All of it is born of human greed. Moderation is the key to contentment, Lesser the needs the happier you are. Grow up and get hold of your needs, Learn to tell necessities from desire. Cherish the little things in life, Value people over possession. A healthy society is born of healthy mind, Health begins where ends self-obsession. Sophistication is an enemy of life. A life of simplicity is bound to thrive.”

“God speaks to you all the time ~ Have you tuned in to the cosmic vibrations of love, harmony, peace, and truth? Unless you quieten that blabbering little mind of yours, you won’t be able to listen to the Divine music that plays on and on... Just for one heavenly second, shut your eyes, ears, and mind to the cacophonous noises of this physical, illusionary, temporary world. Exit all the drama. Just for that one heavenly second, stay quiet and simply listen. Listen to the ambrosial sound. It vibrates with joy. You can have more of this soulful peace in your life, if only you choose to align yourself with the Source of Love and Light. The more you stay attuned to "Home", the less you’d wander in-vain.”

“Meditation isn’t what most people think,’ she said. ‘You’re meditating right now, in the way that you’re focused on what I’m saying. If your mind was somewhere else—if you were thinking about the Saints game or what you might have for dessert—that’s not meditation. You have to be here, now. Inhabit the present moment, because that’s the only way to find lasting happiness. If you think happiness is somewhere out there, you’ll spend your whole life chasing it, and once you find something that looks like happiness, it will change without warning. You have to accept yourself as you are, happy to be breathing, to be present in this moment.”

“If we practice meditation, we can generate the energies of mindfulness and concentration. These energies will lead us to the insight that there is no birth and no death. We can truly remove our fear of death. When we understand that we cannot be destroyed, we are liberated from fear. It is a great relief. Non-fear is the ultimate joy.”

“Self is the source of all courage and self is the source of all weakness. Self is the source of all joy and self is the source of all sorrows. That very self can make this world a beautiful place and that very self can also make this world a miserable place. The only thing that distinguishes the one from the other, is your intention.”

“A scholar came to me the other day and said "sir, why do you laugh so much - you are an eminent thinker of our century - you should appear more serious and composed" - hearing this, I burst out in yet another brief laughter and then said to him gently "my dear sir, why can't I laugh in front of my people, my own kind, my humanity, whom I hold most dear - what do I have to hide with the veil of seriousness - I would rather infect another person with a bit of joy through my laughter, than make them desperately serious, with pompous words - a good laughter is as uplifting as a good teaching, for it is simply meditation.”

“A kind of northing is what I wish to accomplish, a single-minded trek towards that place where any shutter left open to the zenith at night will record the wheeling of all the sky’s stars as a pattern of perfect, concentric circles. I seek a reduction, a shedding, a sloughing off. At the seashore you often see a shell, or fragment of a shell, that sharp sands and surf have thinned to a wisp. There is no way you can tell what kind of shell it had been, what creature it had housed; it could have been a whelk or a scallop, a cowrie, limpet, or conch. The animal is long since dissolved, and its blood spread and thinned in the general sea. All you hold in your hand is a cool shred of shell, an inch long, pared so thin that it passes a faint pink light. It is an essence, a smooth condensation of the air, a curve. I long for the North where unimpeded winds would hone me to such a pure slip of bone. But I’ll not go northing this year. I’ll stalk that floating pole and frigid air by waiting here. I wait on bridges; I wait, struck, on forest paths and meadow’s fringes, hilltops and banksides, day in and day out, and I receive a southing as a gift. The North washes down the mountains like a waterfall, like a tidal wave, and pours across the valley; it comes to me. It sweetens the persimmons and numbs the last of the crickets and hornets; it fans the flames of the forest maples, bows the meadow’s seeded grasses and pokes it chilling fingers under the leaf litter, thrusting the springtails and the earthworms deeper into the earth. The sun heaves to the south by day, and at night wild Orion emerges looming like the Specter over Dead Man Mountain. Something is already here, and more is coming.”

“Today is the winter solstice. The planet tilts just so to its star, lists and holds circling in a fixed tension between veering and longing, and spins helpless, exalted, in and out of that fleet blazing touch. Last night Orion vaulted and spread all over the sky, pagan and lunatic, his shoulder and knee on fire, his sword three suns at the ready-for what? I won’t see this year again, not again so innocent; and longing wrapped round my throat like a scarf. “For the Heavenly Father desires that we should see,” says Ruysbroeck, “and that is why He is ever saying to our inmost spirit one deep unfathomable word and nothing else.” But what is the word? Is this mystery or coyness? A cast-iron bell hung from the arch of my rib cage; when I stirred, it rang, or it tolled, a long syllable pulsing ripples up my lungs and down the gritty sap inside my bones, and I couldn’t make it out; I felt the voiced vowel like a sigh or a note but I couldn’t catch the consonant that shaped it into sense.”

“It looked as though the leaves of the autumn forest had taken flight, and were pouring down the valley like a waterfall, like a tidal wave, all the leaves of the hardwoods from here to Hudson’s Bay. It was as if the season’s colors were draining away like lifeblood, as if the year were molting and shedding. The year was rolling down, and a vital curve had been reached, the tilt that gives way to headlong rush. And when the monarch butterflies had passed and were gone, the skies were vacant, the air poised. The dark night into which the year was plunging was not a sleep but an awakening, a new and necessary austerity, the sparer climate for which I longed. The shed trees were brittle and still, the creek light and cold, and my spirit holding its breath.”