“Time is something we created in order to measure the span of our lives. It’s not meant to create fear in you or paralyse you from moving forward. You are never too old and it is never too late to start over.”

Prince Rogers Nelson (1958 – 2016), born on this day

“The song of sacred truth is not a tuneless lay on one unvarying note; rather, it is a call sounding at all times for living beings to respond to its challenge in ways appropriate to the time and circumstances. Sacred truth resides in every living moment that we draw breath. We can only be soundboards of this truth, receiving its vibration and absorbing and reflecting its tonality. If we insist that ours is the only authorized song, then we cut across the frequencies of others.”

From The Celtic Spirit: Daily Meditations for the Turning Year by Caitlin Matthews

“We pray to you, Mother Earth, with gratitude
For your holding and sustaining love
For the air, water, and soil that feed us
For the mountains and rivers and oceans that calm our spirits
For loving and supporting all beings and all creation.
We pray to you, Mother Earth, with humility
Help us to remember our place in the great web of life
Help us to remember that we are but a part of this great web,
and that we must do our part for all life.
We pray to you, Mother Earth, for forgiveness
For our ignorance and wilful disregard of the damage we have done to you, to the air and the waters,
and the soil and the life of this beautiful planet.
We pray to you, Mother Earth, for fortitude
to uphold our part in reversing the damage we have caused,
for fortitude to make and sustain a commitment to do our part to heal the planet.
Mother Earth, in gratitude and humility, we ask that you hold us and sustain us,
as we strive to live in connection with you and all life.”

Lucy Bunch

“Just by practising gratitude, we can find happiness. We must be grateful to our ancestors, our parents, our teachers, our friends, the earth, the sky, the trees, the grass, the animals, the soil, the stones. Looking at the sunlight or at the forest, we feel gratitude. Looking at our breakfast, we feel gratitude. When we live in the spirit of gratitude, there will be much happiness in our life.”

Thích Nhất Hạnh

“All my life, I have maintained that the people of the world can learn to live together in peace if they are not brought up in prejudice… We must change the system of education and instruction. Unfortunately, history has shown us that brotherhood must be learned, when it should be natural.”

Josephine Baker (1906 – 1975), performing artist and civil rights activist, born on this day

“We breathe the common wind of the earth
no matter where we live, who we love,
what language we speak.

We drink the common water of the earth
no matter the colour of our skin, how long we live,
the coverings we drape on our forms.

We follow the common paths of the earth
no matter our beliefs, how far we move from home,
the gold that we carry, or its lack.

May we live from these truths, our hearts
open to the holiness all around us,
our hands turned always toward the common good.”

Kathleen McTigue

“I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they’re right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.”

Marilyn Monroe (1926 – 1962), born on this day

“Why! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love—or sleep in the bed at night
with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with my mother,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds—or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down—or of stars shining so
quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring;
Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best—mechanics,
boatmen, farmers,
Or among the savans—or to the soirée—or to the opera.
Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery,
Or behold children at their sports,
Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old woman,
Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,
Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;
These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring—yet each distinct and in its place.

To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass—the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women, and all that
concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.

To me the sea is a continual miracle;
The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the ships,
with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?”

Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892), born on this day

“In a village there was a beautiful statue of a Mahatma (great sage) with outstretched arms. On a plaque beneath the statue, these words were inscribed, “Come into my arms.”
Over the years, the arms broke off. The villagers loved the statue and were very upset. They gathered together to try to decide what to do. Some suggested that the statue should be taken down. Others objected, saying that new arms should be made.
But, finally, an old man stood up and said, “No. Don’t worry about making new arms. Leave it without arms.”
The other villagers responded, “But what about the plaque underneath? It says, ‘Come into my arms.’”
The old man replied, “No problem. Just below the words ‘Come into my arms,’ you should add, ‘by letting me work through your hands.’”

Mātā Amritānandamayī Devi (also known as Amma)

She Told Me the Earth Loves Us by Anne Haven McDonnell

“She said it softly, without a need
for conviction or romance.
After everything? I asked, ashamed.

That’s not the kind of love she meant.
She walked through a field of gray
beetle-bored pine, snags branching

like polished bone. I forget sometimes
how trees look at me with the generosity
of water. I forget all the other

breath I’m breathing in.
Today I learned that trees can’t sleep
with our lights on. That they knit

a forest in their language, their feelings.
This is not a metaphor.
Like seeing a face across a crowd,

we are learning all the old things,
newly shined and numbered.
I’m always looking

for a place to lie down
and cry. Green, mossed, shaded.
Or rock-quiet, empty. Somewhere

to hush and start over.
I put on my antlers in the sun.
I walk through the dark gates of the trees.

Grief waters my footsteps, leaving
a trail that glistens.”