Through the opened heart, the world comes rushing in, the way oceans fill the smallest hole along the shore. It is the quietest sort of miracle: by simply being who we are, the world will come to fill us, to cleanse us, to baptize us, again and again.
The flower doesn't dream of the bee. It blossoms and the bee comes.
When we heal ourselves, we heal the world.
Rather than finding heaven on earth, we are asked to release heaven by living on earth.
The extraordinary is waiting quietly beneath the skin of all that is ordinary.
For listening to the stories of others ... is a kind of water that breaks the fever of our isolation. If we listen closely enough, we are soothed into remembering our common name.