Thanks Nic, hugs to you too.
That's lovely Evi...
HUGS
I really appreciate this post. It makes me feel better about my life. Cheers to you!
Good to hear. Audre is pretty powerful.
thanks -the words are really something
Torture the data long enough and they will confess to anything.
I just saw that image today on facebook, for the first time, not even half an hour ago. Seeing it again here must mean something.
Thank you for having this thread. It does mean a lot, at least to me.
If anyone here wishes to read something about this, I recommend this: [url=]Renee Yohe[/url]
It is a story of hope. It is my inspiration.
I have never been one to post in forums, but I can not think of a better thread to make my first post in.
“Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections but instantly set about remedying them — every day begin the task anew.” -Saint Francis de Sales
“A pearl is a beautiful thing that is produced by an injured life. It is the tear [that results] from the injury of the oyster. The treasure of our being in this world is also produced by an injured life. If we had not been wounded, if we had not been injured, then we will not produce the pearl.” -Stephan Hoeller
“Good humor is a tonic for mind and body. It is the best antidote for anxiety and depression. It is a business asset. It attracts and keep friends. It lightens human burdens. It is the direct route to serenity and contentment.” -Greenville Kleisser
Suffering from these ailments is one of the worst things that can happen to a human being. You can't see it like a broken arm you can't fix it with a cast.
Id
Evi and Maz, you guys are the perfect thing with whom to wrap up a day. Thanks so much for the comfort and inspiration.
Here's my contribution, by William Ernest Henley.
INVICTUS
Out of the night that covers me
Black as the Pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the Shade
And yet, the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me, unafraid
It matters not how strait the Gate
How charged with punishment the Scroll
I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul.
Sorry, double post... Perhaps I'll come back and ramble about something else later
Sarcastic Coffee Aficionado
I can only write ... thank you Eviotis, for creating a wonderful thread.
And to T_Elle, I was given "Invictus" framed and written in his calligraphy art, from a dear friend, after I had made it through my own painful hurdle in life. I have carried it with me in my life, as I have carried his heart in my heart, knowing comfort and hope and if another day blesses my life, I am unafraid!
Thank you for sharing ... everyone!!
PA
Thank you for the beautiful quotes. :-) They warm my heart.
Angela
Anne Sexton was a wonderful poet who suffered from manic depression all her life. She eventually committed suicide. I always love that as a poet she never shies away from the ugliness and honesty of her mental illness.
For the Year of the Insane - Anne Sexton
O Mary, fragile mother,
hear me, hear me now
although I do not know your words.
The black rosary with its silver Christ
lies unblessed in my hand
for I am the unbeliever.
Each bead is round and hard between my fingers,
a small black angel.
O Mary, permit me this grace,
this crossing over,
although I am ugly,
submerged in my own past
and my own madness.
Although there are chairs
I lie on the floor.
Only my hands are alive,
touching beads.
Word for word, I stumble.
A beginner, I feel your mouth touch mine.
I count beads as waves,
hammering in upon me.
I am ill at their numbers,
sick, sick in the summer heat
and the window above me
is my only listener, my awkward being.
She is a large taker, a soother.
The giver of breath
she murmurs,
exhaling her wide lung like an enormous fish.
Closer and closer
comes the hour of my death
as I rearrange my face, grow back,
grow undeveloped and straight-haired.
All this is death.
In the mind there is a thin alley called death
and I move through it as
through water.
My body is useless.
It lies, curled like a dog on the carpet.
It has given up.
There are no words here except the half-learned,
the Hail Mary and the full of grace.
Now I have entered the year without words.
I not the queer entrance and the exact voltage.
Without words they exist.
Without words one may touch bread
and be handed bread
and make no sound.
O Mary, tender physician,
come with powders and herbs
for I am in the center.
It is very small and the air is gray
as in a steam house.
I am handed wine as child is handed milk.
It is presented in a delicate glass
with a round bowl and a thin lip.
The wine itself is pitch-colored, musty and secret.
The glass rises on its own toward my mouth
and I notice this and understand this
only because it has happened.
I have this fear of coughing
but I do not speak,
a fear of rain, a fear of the horseman
who comes riding into my mouth.
The glass tilts in on its own
and I am on fire.
I see two thin streaks burn down my chin.
I see myself as one would see another.
I have been cut in two.
O Mary, open your eyelides.
I am in the domain of silence,
the kingdom of the crazy and the sleeper.
There is blood here
and I have eaten it.
O mother of the womb,
did I come for blood alone?
O little mother,
I am in my own mind.
I am locked in the wrong house.