HeartTalk - Linde Rose
M.Hlth. Sc. (Hons). MNZAP

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Sweet Darkness
(by David Whyte - from The House of Belonging)
When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.
When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.
Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.
There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.
The dark will be your womb
The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.
You must learn one thing.
The world was made to be free in.
Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.

Love after Love
(by Derek Walcott)

 The day will come when,
 with elation
You will greet yourself arriving at your own door
In your own mirror
And each will smile at the others welcome
Saying, sit, eat.
You will love again
 You will love again
 You will love again
The stranger who was yourself
 Give wine, give bread,
 give back your heart to yourself,
 To this stranger
 Who has loved you all your live,
 Whom you ignored for another,
 Who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf
 The photographs, the desperate notes
Peel your own image from the mirror
 Sit and feast on your life.


Wild Geese
(by Mary Oliver - from Dream Work )

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting 
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

The Well of Grief

(by David Whyte - from Where Many Rivers Meet )

Those who will not slip beneath
     the still surface on the well of grief
turning downward through its black water
     to the place we cannot breathe
will never know the source from which we drink,
     the secret water, cold and clear,
nor find in the darkness glimmering
     the small round coins
          thrown by those who wished for something else.






















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