Best 3624 quotes in «healing quotes» category

Sexual abusers often convince their victims that the abuse was their own demerit.

Shaman is a spiritual shuttle between three realms of existence: Heaven, Mankind and Earth. He pierces through inter-dimensional veils in order to heal the parts and unite the whole.

Sharing your story is a courageous step towards healing your own heart.

Shattered thoughts cut through her mind like a chain lightning that zapped her heart, knotted her stomach and riveted her feet to the earth.

She could do this. She was stronger now. This was her chance to prove it.

She collapsed. I stepped forward and caught her. I thought of two trees nearly unrooted and leaning against each other.

She came into my life like the Mistral breeze. She showered me with love and care. She splashed me with smiles and laughs. And slowly and silently, she healed me of my depression.

She couldn't believe she had told him. Now she would forever be a broken pot in his eyes. And yet, speaking those words last night had been like digging shrapnel out of her flesh. She was sore, but the piercing weight of the deeply lodged shards was gone. The relief was indescribable.

She chose the attractive room, not noticing the cloven hoof exposed beneath the ornate curtains. That decision has surely haunted her every day since, finally catching up to her.

She closed her eyes and began to weave a song. She abandoned the familiar melodies she’d played so many times before and went in search of something new, no longer wanting a song fed on pain or guilt. She needed one that could replace those wounds with strength, with resolve, with confidence. She needed a song that could not only assuage, but heal and build anew. The notes stumbled around the room, tripping over beds and empty stools and hollow men sleeping. They warbled and fell, haphazard, chaotic, settling without flight. Fin’s forehead creased and she persisted. She let her fingers wander, reached out with her mind. She chased the fleeting song she’d glimpsed once before. In Madeira she’d felt a hint of it: something wild, untameable, a thing sprung whole and flawless from the instant of creation.

Shed the tears. Shed the blame and guilt too. So that your heart mends and heals.

She got a sense that their time together was valuable, as though she needed to hold on to every minute as if it were their last. He was too good to be true, every moment spent with him magical, so much so that she presumed this couldn’t last forever. None of her good feelings had lasted forever, none of the people who lightened her life managed to stay. Going by her previous luck, from pure fear of not wanting to lose something so special, she was just waiting for the day he would leave. Whoever he was, he was healing her, he was teaching her to smile, teaching her to laugh, and she wondered what she could teach him.

She fought to relive and come alive

She had been so vulnerable, and Norah wanted only to protect her. But that vulnerability was tied to a massive mistake, a perception of herself too damaged to love. If Norah got anything from this book, it's that we're all damaged. The tragedy is letting it define you.

She had not had the relief of amnesia. She had suffered longer, and she had suffered more. Each second was agony in the first weeks. She was like an amputee in the days before anesthesia, half crazed with pain, astounded that the human body could feel so much and not die of it. But slowly, cell by painful cell, she began to mend. There came a time when it was no longer her whole body that burned with pain but only her heart. And then there came a time when even her heart was able, for a time at least, to feel other emotions besides grief.

She hoped that Tin Win would learn what she had learned over the years: that there are wounds time does not heal, though it can reduce them to a manageable size.

She healed me each time I was a little broken.

She held out her hands, cupped and holding a small plant. 'The power to heal is the power to destroy,' she said with the faintest smile.

...she is careful who she sleeps with, because only those willing totreat her witht he same reverence are worthy of her attention. ...you are the Goddess, and "all acts of love and pleasure" are your rituals

She leaned towards me and kissed me on the lips. It was just a peck, but a peck on the lips was not just a peck. 'What was that for?' I asked. I could just about see her smile in the moonlight. It wasn't a flirtatious smile. It was a plain, matter-of-fact one. 'For you to have something else to occupy your mind.

She's terrified that all these sensations and images are coming out of her — but I think she's even more terrified to find out why." Carla's description was typical of survivors of chronic childhood abuse. Almost always, they deny or minimize the abusive memories. They have to: it's too painful to believe that their parents would do such a thing.

She was done running! The stars were above her head and shining too brightly; all she had to do now was tip her head back and look.

She who heals others heals herself.

She would be quirky, and I would be stolid, and our relationship, if launched, would embark on an eccentric path, and our days would be lively. But I wasn't expected to take such nonsense seriously, was I?

She who heals herself, heals others.

She wore her battle scars like wings, looking at her you would never know that once upon a time she forgot how to fly

SILENT LIKE SLEEP You appear by my side, silent like sleep. Soft hair, a little wild. No fear, gentle like a calm river. I turn and catch your gaze, before you have time to look away. Your eyes are searching inside mine. Perhaps, they ARE mine. More than nakedness, for there is no cover to take. The fire in your eyes is ringed with water; wide and cool. We are far from the brutal place, but you do not think so. You take my hand and disappear like you were never there, except that I am now somewhere else.

Simply put, if you know Jesus and you believe He is still healing people today, He will heal the sick through you.

Silence is the source of healing. When we bring things from within ourselves out into the light of awareness, a healing process happens. In the silence, we can let go of all anger, sadness, fear, loneliness and frustration.

Silence heals.

Silence, if treated with caution and love, can be like our alabaster flask; as it waits for the right time, for the right reason, and for the right audience to manifest its healing properties.

Silence is very dangerous, especially when your words can be the only source of healing at a moment.

Since we human beings are the cause of the environmental problems that we face today, we can also be the solution. We just need a shift in our thinking. We just need to move away from the paradigm of competition and domination. Then this world will not end. In fact, the world will prosper and return to its original place as the cradle of self-discovery and the advancement of human spirituality. And such a world is a true democracy.

Since embarking on this journey, I've learned that this is what alternative medicine does for people. By making us feel supported, by summoning the power of expectations and belief, by relaxing our bodies and reducing stress, mind-body therapies move molecules in our brains in a way that can reduce the ills we feel in our bodies.

Sin is more than a stain. Sin is a wound; it needs to be treated, healed. The place where my encounter with the mercy of Jesus takes place is my sin.

Since we're in bodies, and we honor our experiences within the body, we have wounds within us that need to be healed before we can get to the place of alignment.

Single parenthood: Where you bite every bullet Suck up spells of pouring rain And wake with open wounds Still dripping with the liquid of yesterday's pain The objective being to simply get up, withstand, endure Fight an inch harder, love a little more And draw a smile on your face Tie a ribbon of calm around your racing heart For the one(s) that you so beautifully adore

Simply said, ritual is any gesture done with emotion and intention by an individual or a group that attempts to connect the individual or the community with transpersonal energies for the purposes of healing and transformation. Ritual is the pitch through which the personal and collective voices of our longing and creativity are extended to the unseen dimensions of life, beyond our conscious minds and into the realms of nature and spirit. Ritual is a form of direct knowing, something indigenous to the psyche. It has evolved with us, taking knowing into the bone, into our very marrow. I call ritual an embodied process.

Sleep is closing your eyes and trusting you will heal.

---Sleeps through the washes of the morning's colors and the warm brilliance of sunrise. She sleeps in a world where she remembers, perfectly, every detail about her husband, this day, that sentence, another touch. She will remember it all in the deepest sleep, and lose it again the moment her eyes open and she wonders how late it must be for the sun to already be so high and then remembers, in the next instant, what happened the day before.

Smiling at someone can have significant health consequences.

Smile. Smile until all that's left are the broken pieces of your heart, slowly mending itself.

Smile. Smile until all that's left are the pieces of your broken heart that are slowly fixing itself.

So, although my story is sometimes ugly, it's also beautiful.

Society gives the image of sexual violators as weird, ugly, anti-social, alcoholics. Society gives the impression that violators kidnap children are out of their homes and take them to some wooded area and abandon them after the violation. Society gives the impression that everyone hates people who violate children. If all of these myths were true, healing would not be as challenging as it is. Half of our healing is about the actual abuse. The other half is about how survivors fit into society in the face of the myths that people hold in order to make themselves feel safe. The truth is that 80% of childhood sexual abuse is perpetrated by family members. Yet we rarely hear the word “incest”. The word is too ugly and the truth is too scary. Think about what would happen if we ran a campaign to end incest instead of childhood sexual abuse. The number one place that children should know they are safe is in their homes. As it stands, as long as violators keep sexual abuse within the family, the chances of repercussion by anyone is pretty low. Wives won’t leave violating husbands, mothers won’t kick their violating children out of the home, and violating grandparents still get invited to holiday dinners. It is time to start cleaning house. If we stop incest first, then we will strengthen our cause against all sexual abuse.

So I am not a broken heart. I am not the weight I lost or miles or ran and I am not the way I slept on my doorstep under the bare sky in smell of tears and whiskey because my apartment was empty and if I were to be this empty I wanted something solid to sleep on. Like concrete. I am not this year and I am not your fault. I am muscles building cells, a little every day, because they broke that day, but bones are stronger once they heal and I am smiling to the bus driver and replacing my groceries once a week and I am not sitting for hours in the shower anymore. I am the way a life unfolds and bloom and seasons come and go and I am the way the spring always finds a way to turn even the coldest winter into a field of green and flowers and new life. I am not your fault.

Society must stop the silence and raise their voice to child sexual abuse.

So many nights, I stared out at the inky black ocean, believing that if I could only learn how to eat again and keep my hands out of my throat, that would be enough. I prayed hard and desperately to God and the sun and the moon and the ocean and the universe and every shelter dog I’d ever met, as if they were all genies, that I wouldn’t ask for anything more. But perhaps God isn’t a collection of genies, and perhaps it’s okay to hope for more than relief. To hope big. To hope for Sunny’s limitless capacity to love.

Some abusers organise themselves in groups to abuse children and other adults in a more formally ritualised way. Men and women in these groups can be abusers with both sexes involved in all aspects of the abuse. Children are often forced to abuse other children. Pornography and prostitution are sometimes part of the abuse as is the use of drugs, hypnotism and mind control. Some groups use complex rituals to terrify, silence and convince victims of the tremendous power of the abusers. the purpose is to gain and maintain power over the child in order to exploit. Some groups are so highly organised that they also have links internationally through trade in child-pornography, drugs and arms. Some abusers organise themselves around a religion or faith and the teaching and training of the children within this faith, often takes the form of severe and sustained torture and abuse. Whether or not the adults within this type of group believe that what they are doing is, in some way 'right' is immaterial to the child on the receiving end of the 'teachings' and abuse.

Someday those bruises inside you will heal. You can't know when someday will come, or what life will look like when it finally does. ... But in a way it doesn't even matter because someday isn't what we have. What we have is right now, this moment, when things aren't okay yet, but in a way they are already, because in the end they will be, and as long as that's true, it's enough.