We do not become healers.
We came as healers. We are.
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
We came as healers. We are.
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
We do not become storytellers.
We came as carriers of the stories
we and our ancestors actually lived. We are.
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
We came as carriers of the stories
we and our ancestors actually lived. We are.
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
We do not become artists.
We came as artists. We are.
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
We do not become writers.. dancers.. musicians.. helpers.. peacemakers. We came as such. We are.
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
We do not learn to love in this sense.
We came as Love. We are Love.
Some of us are still catching up to who we truly are.
We came as Love. We are Love.
Some of us are still catching up to who we truly are.
A Simple Prayer for Remembering the Motherlode by Clarissa Pinkola Estes from The Contemplari manuscript ©200
taken for Contemplative Monk — FaceBook
Carrie's Bench 