The truth is, in order to heal we need to tell our stories and have them witnessed...The story itself becomes a vessel that holds us up, that sustains, that allows us to order our jumbled experiences into meaning.
As I told my stories of fear, awakening, struggle, and transformation and had them received, heard, and validated by other women, I found healing.
I also needed to hear other women's stories in order to see and embrace my own. Sometimes another woman's story becomes a mirror that shows me a self I haven't seen before. When I listen to her tell it, her experience quickens and clarifies my own. Her questions rouse mine. Her conflicts illumine my conflicts. Her resolutions call forth my hope. Her strengths summon my strengths. All of this can happen even when our stories and our lives are very different.
the feminine journey is a story unfolding, and its epiphanies come through real things, through tangibles like walking sticks and dreams and deer antlers--all of which we might miss without taking time and space in Deep Being.
Sue Monk KiddI believe in the goodness of imagination.
Sue Monk KiddTags: imagination
All my life I've thought I needed someone to complete me, now I know I need to belong to myself.
Sue Monk KiddWhere had I been that I didn't know about imaginary friends? I could see the point of it. How a lost part of yourself steps out and remind you who you could be with a little work.
Sue Monk KiddPlace a beehive on my grave and let the honey soak through, when I am dead and gone that's what I want from you. The streets of heaven are gold and sunny, but I'll stick with my plot and a pot of honey. Place a beehive on my grave and let the honey soak through.
Sue Monk KiddWe walked along the river with the words streaming behind us like ribbons in the night.
Sue Monk KiddThere is a fullness of time for things. You have to know when to prod and when to be quiet. When to let things take their course.
Sue Monk KiddI didn't know then what I wanted, but the ache for it was palpable.
Sue Monk KiddTags: yearning
In a weird way I must have loved my little collection of hurts and wounds. They provided me with some real nice sympathy, with the feeling I was exceptional...What a special case I was.
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