Quotes About Transformation

For this is the vision that unites all seven paths and creates the rainbow bridge to a new earth and a new heaven.

Likewise may I begin to see new growth in myself as I approach old fears with greater courage and the faith that all situations, seen rightly, are an opportunity for growth in love and wisdom.

We become whole, healed, by making the invisible visible and bringing the darkness to light.

It takes courage to re-own our lost parts, but authentic spirituality requires that we make the shadow visible and that we make that which is divided whole.

Fear gives way to courage. We are asked to fast from the ego's fearful thinking and fill ourselves instead with faith. The Muslims mark this change with Ramadan, the Jews with Purim, the Catholics with Lent.

We emerge into the light not by denying our pain, but by walking through it.

Darkness deserves gratitude. It is the alleluia point at which we learn to understand that all growth does not take place in the sunlight.

The liturgical year is the year that sets out to attune the life of the Christian to the life of Jesus, the Christ. It proposes, year after year, to immerse us over and over again into the sense and substance of the Christian life until, eventually, we become what we say we are -- followers of Jesus all the way to the heart of God. The liturgical year is an adventure in human growth, an exercise in spiritual ripening.

Benedict understood clearly that the function of leadership is to call us beyond ourselves, to stretch us to our limits, to turn the clay into breathless beauty. But first, of course, we have to allow it to happen.

We cannot expect life to be perfect. But we can expect to see life come from death. We can expect to see morning after night. We can expect that acceptance of the struggle will give rise to the victory over self.

A living thing is distinguished from a dead thing by the multiplicity of the changes at any moment taking place in it.

Silence is a frightening thing. Silences leaves us at the mercy of the noise within us. We hear the fears that need to be faced. We hear, then, the angers that need to be cooled. We hear the emptiness that needs to be filled. We hear the cries for humility and reconciliation and centeredness. We hear ambition and arrogance and attitudes of uncaring awash in the shallows of the soul. Silence demands answers. Silence invites us to depth. Silence heals what hoarding and running will not touch.

Everything changes, today's tears are tomorrow's absurdities, after all.

S]omehow, without his being aware of it, time had coated his awe with a rind of disillusionment, and the wine of wonder had turned to vinegar.

Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.

A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his own image.

Only two and a half years before, I had felt threatened by internal "compulsions" that had no name; now I knew I was multiple. Once I had wanted to destroy the other personalities; now I wanted everyone to be happy.

Some of us are drawn to mountains the way the moon draws the tide. Both the great forests and the mountains live in my bones. They have taught me, humbled me, purified me and changed me.

This stuff of a past not worthily lived is also medicine.

Life-threatening illness calls us to a place—metaphorically a desert or mountain peak—where, as we sit, the hard wind of reality strips away all the trappings of life, like so much clothing, makeup, and accessories.

Letter make words. Words make stories. And stories can be changed with strong enough magic.

Si no te gusta lo que está creciendo a tu alrededor, necesitas considerar cambiar lo que estás sembrando. ¿Estás invitando espíritus de temor, enojo, odio y rebeldía del enemigo? ¿O estás invitando dones espirituales de amor, gozo, paz y paciencia de Dios?

Any artist is insulted by the suggestion that art is merely a matter of recording reality, and knows that it is impossible to explain how imagination can transform not only events and people, but the artist as well, into quite different "realities".

Something had been taken away from him in the war, against his will, and he would never be the same. Years in labour camps, in mountains, in salt mines: only solitude was natural to him now. Some part of him was terminally tired. He was beyond intimacy. The pretence at normality, the weight of the past, the unreality of the days here had exhausted him.