Mindful Poetry | Pause Meditation®

Arching under the night sky inky with black expansiveness, we point to the planets we know, we pin quick wishes on stars. From earth, we read the sky as if it is an unerring book of the universe, expert and evident. Still, there are mysteries below our sky: the whale song, the songbird singing its call in the bough of a wind-shaken tree. We are creatures of constant awe, curious at beauty, at leaf and blossom, at grief and pleasure, sun and shadow. And it is not darkness that unites us, not the cold distance of space, but the offering of water, each drop of rain, each rivulet, each pulse, each vein. O second moon, we, too, are made of water, of vast and beckoning seas. We, too, are made of wonders, of great and ordinary loves, of small invisible worlds, of a need to call out through the dark.

a spell to cast upon meeting a stranger, comrade or friend working for social and/or environmental justice and liberation:

you are a miracle walking i greet you with wonder in a world which seeks to own your joy and your imagination you have chosen to be free, every day, as a practice. i can never know the struggles you went through to get here, but i know you have swum upstream and at times it has been lonely

i want you to know i honor the choices you made in solitude and i honor the work you have done to belong i honor your commitment to that which is larger than yourself and your journey to love the particular container of life that is you

you are enough your work is enough you are needed your work is sacred you are here and i am grateful

All I have to do

is let it go –

like a falcon

releasing a rabbit;

like an athlete

relinquishing a golden dream;

like a hungry child

tossing a ripe mango

into the sun.

All I have to do

I dread.

What happens

if I can’t let go?

What happens if I can?

Surely it is safer

not to experiment –

for – see here –

I am not alone!

I recognize you, fellow monkeys,

clinging to the thresholds

of normality.

Rattling imprisoned limbs,

You dare me to desert.

All I have to do,

I do.

Finger by finger

I loosen my grip.

I let it go.

There was no banana.

Only a fist

contorted by fear,

choking the innocent air.

Now I understand that there are two melodies playing,

one below the other, one easier to hear, the other

lower, steady, perhaps more faithful for being less heard

yet always present.

When all other things seem lively and real,

this one fades. Yet the notes of it

touch as gently as fingertips, as the sound

of the names laid over each child at birth.

I want to stay in that music without striving or cover.

If the truth of our lives is what it is playing,

the telling is so soft

that this mortal time, this irrevocable change,

becomes beautiful. I stop and stop again

to hear the second music.

I hear the children in the yard, a train, then birds.

All this is in it and will be gone. I set my ear to it as I would to a heart.

An old Cherokee chief was teaching his grandson about life...

"A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy.

"It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.

"One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, self-doubt, and ego.

"The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.

"This same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather,

"Which wolf will win?"

The old chief simply replied,

"The one you feed."

There is no controlling life. Try corralling a lightning bolt, containing a tornado. Dam a stream and it will create a new channel. Resist, and the tide will sweep you off your feet. Allow, and grace will carry you to higher ground. The only safety lies in letting it all in – the wild and the weak; fear, fantasies, failures and success. When loss rips off the doors of the heart, or sadness veils your vision with despair, practice becomes simply bearing the truth. In the choice to let go of your known way of being, the whole world is revealed to your new eyes

Why wait for your awakening?

The moment your eyes are open, seize the day.

Would you hold back when the Beloved beckons?

Would you deliver your litany of sins like a child’s collection of sea shells, prized and labeled?

“No, I can’t step across the threshold,” you say, eyes downcast.

“I’m not worthy” I’m afraid, and my motives aren’t pure.

I’m not perfect, and surely I haven’t practiced nearly enough.

My meditation isn’t deep, and my prayers are sometimes insincere.

I still chew my fingernails, and the refrigerator isn’t clean.

“Do you value your reasons for staying small more than the light shining through the open door?

Forgive yourself.

Now is the only time you have to be whole.

Now is the sole moment that exists to live in the light of your true Self.

Perfection is not a prerequisite for anything but pain.

Please, oh please, don’t continue to believe in your disbelief.

This is the day of your awakening.

Just for now, Without asking how, Let yourself sink into stillness.

Just for now, lay down the weight You so patiently bear upon your shoulders.

Feel the earth receive you, And the infinite expanse of the sky grow even wider, As your awareness reaches up to meet it.

Just for now, Allow a wave of breath to enliven your experience.

Breathe out whatever blocks you from the truth.

Just for now, Be boundless, free, With awakened energy tingling in your hands and feet.

Drink in the possibility, Of being who and what you really are, So fully alive that the world looks different, Newly born and vibrant, Just for now.

Let go of the ways you thought life would unfold; the holding of plans or dreams or expectations – Let it all go. Save your strength to swim with the tide.

The choice to fight what is here before you now will only result in struggle, fear, and desperate attempts to flee from the very energy you long for.

Let go. Let it all go and flow with the grace that washes through your days whether you receive it gently or with all your quills raised to defend against invaders.

Take this on faith: the mind may never find the explanations that it seeks, but you will move forward nonetheless.

Let go, and the wave’s crest will carry you to unknown shores, beyond your wildest dreams or destinations. Let it all go and find the place of rest and peace, and certain transformation.

Sun says, “Be your own illumination”. Wren says, “Sing your heart out, all day long”. Stream says, “Do not stop for any obstacle”. Oak says, “When the wind blows, bend easily, and trust your roots to hold”. Stars say, “What you see is one small slice of a single modest galaxy. Remember that vastness cannot be grasped by mind”. Ant says, “Small does not mean powerless”. Silence says nothing. In the quiet, everything comes clear. I say, “Limitless”. I say, “Yes”.

I used to think that

being smart, successful,

and accomplished was

the key. And then I

believed that being a

disciplined seeker would

open the doors to divinity.

Now it seems to me all

that really matters is

being kind – kind to my

stumbling, imperfect self,

kind to every other being

I meet along the way.

I pray for the rough edges

of my judgment to be

smoothed so what remains

is kindness and acceptance

of this unfolding moment.

Inside this kindness may I

find truth and may truth

illumine my way today.

Release the harsh and pointed inner

voice. it's just a throwback to the past,

and holds no truth about this moment.

Let go of self-judgment, the old,

learned ways of beating yourself up

for each imagined inadequacy.

Allow the dialogue within the mind

to grow friendlier, and quiet. Shift

out of inner criticism and life

suddenly looks very different.

i can say this only because I make

the choice a hundred times a day to release the voice that refuses to

acknowledge the real me.

What's needed here isn't more prodding toward perfection, but

intimacy - seeing clearly, and

embracing what I see.

Love, not judgment, sows the

seeds of tranquility and change.

It only takes a reminder to breathe,

a moment to be still, and just like that,

something in me settles, softens, makes

space for imperfection. The harsh voice

of judgment drops to a whisper and I

remember again that life isn't a relay

race; that we will all cross the finish

line; that waking up to life is what we

were born for. As many times as I

forget, catch myself charging forward

without even knowing where I'm going,

that many times I can make the choice

to stop, to breathe, and be, and walk

slowly into the mystery.

What weight can you

put down right now,

willingly relinquishing

the pointed quills of

guilt or judgment?

What burden of the heart

can lift, what dark corner

can be lit, the candle

flickering at first, then

burning bright?

With the next breath,

let it go, that old story

you’ve told yourself

a million times.

Whatever doesn’t serve

you on this path of truth,

leave it behind. Offer

this one gift: the simple

sacrifice that in the giving

sets you free to fully live.

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you” when someone sneezes, a leftover from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying. And sometimes, when you spill lemons from your grocery bag, someone else will help you pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other. We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot, and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder, and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass. We have so little of each other, now. So far from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange. What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here, have my seat,” “Go ahead — you first,” “I like your hat.”

I feel like getting on my rooftop and yelling through a megaphone that can be beamed into every annoyed, irritated, weary, stressed, scared, struggling person’s heartspace:

“WHAT WE HUMANS ARE DOING IS BREATHTAKING AND SO PROFOUNDLY BEAUTIFUL!"

We are taking extreme measures to protect the vulnerable.

In the process,

We are sacrificing routine, comfort, predictability.

We are often losing planned vacations and trips, income, entire businesses, significant savings.

We are homeschooling our kids without backgrounds in education.

Weddings and many other significant milestone celebrations are being postponed, canceled or happening hastily and not as desired and planned.

We are tolerating boredom. Anxiety. Stress. Frustration. Pain. Fear.

And across the planet, humans everywhere, are doing this.

To protect the vulnerable.

So remember this!

Tell this to yourself each morning.

Tell your children this (age appropriately!).

This beautiful, tender, universally collective act of care, consideration, kindness and generosity.

And –

Perhaps the vulnerable are actually the ones protecting us.

May we all be healthy and safe.

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here, And you must treat it as a powerful stranger, Must ask permission to know it and be known. The forest breathes. Listen. It answers, I have made this place around you, If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here. No two trees are the same to Raven. No two branches are the same to Wren. If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you, You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows Where you are. You must let it find you.

The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other’s welcome, and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.

Do you think peace requires an end to war? Or tigers eating only vegetables? Does peace require an absence from your boss, your spouse, yourself? … Do you think peace will come some other place than here? Some other time than Now? In some other heart than yours?

Peace is this moment without judgment. That is all. This moment in the Heart-space where everything that is is welcome. Peace is this moment without thinking that it should be some other way, that you should feel some other thing, that your life should unfold according to your plans.

Peace is this moment without judgment, this moment in the heart-space where everything that is is welcome.

In our emotional

life

we have many

pockets

where we store

our countless

feelings

There’s one for

joy

and one for

sorrow

one for

pride and

one for

shame

there's one

for fear

and one for

peace

one for love,

one for

hate

In these pockets

you know

what’s there

even before

you reach in

But what

could be found

in a pocket of

of silence?

Its very muteness may

cause you to think:

Nothing

But go calmly,

and it's here

where you’ll find

your true

self.

we think

))))))))) itrushesby

or moves

oh . . . so . . . slow

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .ly

we say

we must be

careful

with it

so we don’t

lose it

and then

must go find

some more

We think Time

can be measured

by ticks and tocks

of counting clocks

or saved like

money

in a bank so

we’ll have it

to spend

later

But, I ask,

is the ticking

and the tocking

the important part?

Consider

all the empty

spaces

in between

Tick

Isn’t that a

beautiful canvas

on which to paint

a nourishing life?

– for anxious A

Bad things are going to happen.

Your tomatoes will grow a fungus

and your cat will get run over.

Someone will leave the bag with the ice cream

melting in the car and throw

your blue cashmere sweater in the dryer.

Your husband will sleep

with a girl your daughter’s age, her breasts spilling

out of her blouse. Or your wife

will remember she’s a lesbian

and leave you for the woman next door. The other cat—

the one you never really liked—will contract a disease

that requires you to pry open its feverish mouth

every four hours. Your parents will die.

No matter how many vitamins you take,

how much Pilates, you’ll lose your keys,

your hair, and your memory. If your daughter

doesn’t plug her heart

into every live socket she passes,

you’ll come home to find your son has emptied

the refrigerator, dragged it to the curb,

and called the used-appliance store for a pickup—drug money.

The Buddha tells a story of a woman chased by a tiger.

When she comes to a cliff, she sees a sturdy vine

and climbs halfway down. But there’s also a tiger below.

And two mice—one white, one black—scurry out

and begin to gnaw at the vine. At this point

she notices a wild strawberry growing from a crevice.

She looks up, down, at the mice.

Then she eats the strawberry.

So here’s the view, the breeze, the pulse

in your throat. Your wallet will be stolen, you’ll get fat,

slip on the bathroom tiles in a foreign hotel

and crack your hip. You’ll be lonely.

Oh, taste how sweet and tart

the red juice is, how the tiny seeds

crunch between your teeth.

I am worthy of calm

I belong

in the place where nothing matters

but the here and now

the place where I allow

thoughts to float by

like clouds in the sky

here one moment

and gone the next

this moment in which We are truly blessed:

all moments…

You are worthy of calm

You belong

in the place where love reigns supreme

unity’s more than a dream

it is the way -

the way We all long to be

connected in solidarity

protecting our sacred Mother

in the ways of the sisters and the brothers

before us, wise beyond their time

taking only what they needed to survive

and nothing more….

We are worthy of calm

We belong

in the place where time has no meaning

where ears are ringing

with the sounds of birds singing

where the frogs have gone quiet

from their nocturnal riot

and the only time of consequence

is when the sun leaves and arrives

and all that matters is this moment

in which

We are alive.

The summer I was ten a teenager named Kim butterflied my hair. Cornrows curling into braids behind each ear.

Everybody’s wearing this style now, Kim said.

Who could try to tell me I wasn’t beautiful. The magic in something as once ordinary as hair that for too long had not been good enough now winged and amazing now connected

to a long line of crowns.

Now connected to a long line of girls moving through Brooklyn with our heads held so high, our necks ached. You must know this too – that feeling

of being so much more than you once believed yourself to be

so much more than your too-skinny arms and too-big feet and too-long fingers and too-thick and stubborn hair

All of us now suddenly seen the trick mirror that had us believe we weren’t truly beautiful suddenly shifts

and there we are

and there we are again

and Oh! How could we not have seen ourselves before? So much more

We are so much more.

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,

Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.

And the eyes of those two Indian ponies

Darken with kindness.

They have come gladly out of the willows

To welcome my friend and me.

We step over the barbed wire into the pasture

Where they have been grazing all day, alone.

They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness

That we have come.

They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.

There is no loneliness like theirs.

At home once more,

They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.

I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,

For she has walked over to me

And nuzzled my left hand.

She is black and white,

Her mane falls wild on her forehead,

And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear

That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.

Suddenly I realize

That if I stepped out of my body I would break

Into blossom.

My skeleton, you who once ached with your own growing larger

are now, each year imperceptibly smaller, lighter, absorbed by your own concentration.

When I danced, you danced. When you broke, I.

And so it was lying down, walking, climbing the tiring stairs. Your jaws. My bread.

Someday you, what is left of you, will be flensed of this marriage.

Angular wristbone's arthritis, cracked harp of ribcage, blunt of heel, opened bowl of the skull, twin platters of pelvis— each of you will leave me behind, at last serene.

What did I know of your days, your nights, I who held you all my life inside my hands and thought they were empty?

You who held me all my life inside your hands as a new mother holds her own unblanketed child, not thinking at all.

I got out of bed on two strong legs. It might have been otherwise. I ate cereal, sweet milk, ripe, flawless peach. It might have been otherwise. I took the dog uphill to the birch wood. All morning I did the work I love. At noon I lay down with my mate. It might have been otherwise. We ate dinner together at a table with silver candlesticks. It might have been otherwise. I slept in a bed in a room with paintings on the walls, and planned another day just like this day. But one day, I know, it will be otherwise.

You don't have to be the best. You only have to be yourself. You only have to be real. And speak from the heart. And know that you have the right to see how you see, and think how you think, and feel what you feel, and desire what you desire. You don't have to be a success in the eyes of the world and you don't have to be an expert. You only have to offer what you offer, breathe how you breathe, make mistakes and fuck up and learn to love your stumbling and say the wrong thing and stop worrying so much about impressing anyone, because in the end you only have to live with yourself, and joy is not given but found in the deepest recesses of your being, so there can be joy in falling and joy in making mistakes and joy in making a fool of yourself and joy in forgetting joy and then holding yourself as you crumble to the ground and weep out the old dreams. Joy is closeness with the one you love: You. You don't have to be the best. You don't have to win. You only have to remember this intimacy with the sky, the nearness of the mountains and feel the warmth of the sun on your face and know that you are alive, and that you are a success, and victorious, without having to prove a damn thing.

Sometimes you don’t get to be a Buddha.

Sometimes you just have to break. And feel.

You have to lose your precious ‘spiritual awakening’.

You just have to be a human being, feeling.

Sometimes old pain resurfaces. Old fear. Sorrow. Trauma.

The searing ache of the abandoned child.

The rage of a forgotten universe.

And suddenly, all of your spiritual insights crumble, all the beautiful spiritual words by the beautiful spiritual teachers, all the concepts and ideas about awakening and enlightenment, and the pure perfection of pure untainted awareness, and the selfless non-self self, and the path to glorious futures, and the wise guru, they suddenly are all meaningless, empty words, second-hand drivel, and dead to you.

What’s real, now, and alive, is the burning in the belly, the fire in the heart.

Unavoidable. Intense. So close. So present.

Sometimes you just have to feel. You have no choice.

And sense your feet on the ground.

And breathe into the discomfort.

And trust, and maybe trust that you cannot trust right now.

And take it moment by moment, by moment, by moment.

And know that nothing is working against you.

And awaken from your dream of how this moment ‘should’ be.

And throw away all your second-hand ideas about the path.

Sometimes your spirituality has to shatter,

so you can finally realise

this deeper spirituality

of feeling, presence, and feet-on-ground living,

and the sound of the birds singing in the distance,

and a total surrender to this one precious moment.

What would happen if we removed the word ‘anxious’ and just paid attention to these flickering sensations in the belly?

What would happen if we took away the concept ‘lonely’ and simply became fascinated with this heavy feeling in the heart area?

What would happen if we deleted the labels ‘sick’ or ‘broken’ or ‘bad’ and just got curious about the tightness in the throat the pressure in the head the ache in the shoulders?

What would happen if we stopped looking for solutions and checked to see if there was actually a problem here?

Let’s come out of the exhausting storyline. It’s not true. It was never true. Commit sacred awareness to a single living moment. Come closer to yourself, Now. Bring warmth to the tender places. Infuse sensation with the light of attention.

It’s never as bad as we think. And always, always more alive.

Willing to experience aloneness,

I discover connection everywhere;

Turning to face my fear,

I meet the warrior who lives within;

Opening to my loss,

I gain the embrace of the universe;

Surrendering into emptiness,

I find fullness without end.

Each condition I flee from pursues me,

Each condition I welcome transforms me

And becomes itself transformed

Into its radiant jewel-like essence.

I bow to the one who has made it so,

Who has crafted this Master Game;

To play it is purest delight -

To honor its form, true devotion.

Awareness-

her gaze is so constant,

our every move

watched

with such affection,

a ceaseless vigil

without condition

or agenda,

silent,

patient,

unrelenting in her

embrace.

There is endless room in

the heart of this lover,

infinite space for whatever

foolishness we may

toss her way.

But she is also

crafty, this one-

a thief who will steal away

everything we ever cherished,

all our beliefs,

all our ideas,

all our philosophies,

until nothing is left

but her shimmering

wakefulness,

this simple love

for what is.

Among other wonders of our lives, we are alive with one another, we walk here in the light of this unlikely world that isn't ours for long. May we spend generously the time we are given. May we enact our responsibilities as thoroughly as we enjoy our pleasures. May we see with clarity, may we seek a vision that serves all beings, may we honor the mystery surpassing our sight, and may we hold in our hands the gift of good work and bear it forth whole, as we were borne forth by a power we praise to this one Earth, this homeland of all we love.

In out-of-the-way places of the heart,

Where your thoughts never think to wander,

This beginning has been quietly forming,

Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire,

Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,

Noticing how you willed yourself on,

Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety

And the gray promises that sameness whispered,

Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,

Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,

And out you stepped onto new ground,

Your eyes young again with energy and dream,

A path of plenitude opening before you.

Though your destination is not yet clear

You can trust the promise of this opening;

Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning

That is at one with your life’s desire.

Awaken your spirit to adventure;

Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;

Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,

For your soul senses the world that awaits you.

When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic, Time takes on the strain until it breaks; Then all the unattended stress falls in On the mind like an endless, increasing weight.

The light in the mind becomes dim. Things you could take in your stride before Now become laborsome events of will.

Weariness invades your spirit. Gravity begins falling inside you, Dragging down every bone.

The tide you never valued has gone out. And you are marooned on unsure ground. Something within you has closed down; And you cannot push yourself back to life.

You have been forced to enter empty time. The desire that drove you has relinquished. There is nothing else to do now but rest And patiently learn to receive the self You have forsaken in the race of days.

At first your thinking will darken And sadness take over like listless weather. The flow of unwept tears will frighten you.

You have traveled too fast over false ground; Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up To all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain When it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight, Taking time to open the well of color That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone Until its calmness can claim you. Be excessively gentle with yourself.

Stay clear of those vexed in spirit. Learn to linger around someone of ease Who feels they have all the time in the world.

Gradually, you will return to yourself, Having learned a new respect for your heart And the joy that dwells far within slow time.

Mindfulness Poetry

ADA LIMÓN 🔹 In Praise of Mystery: A Poem for Europa

ADRIENNE MAREE BROWN 🔹 Radical Gratitude Spell

ANNE MEREWOOD 🔹 Dropping the Banana

ANNIE LIGHTHART 🔹 The Second Music

ANTONIO MACHADO 🔹 Is My Soul Asleep?

ANTONIO MACHADO 🔹 Last Night As I Was Sleeping

CAVERLY MORGAN 🔹 Your Doorway In

CHEROKEE PARABLE 🔹 Two Wolves

DANNA FAULDS 🔹 Allow

DANNA FAULDS 🔹 Awakening Now

DANNA FAULDS 🔹 Just For Now

DANNA FAULDS 🔹 Just This

DANNA FAULDS 🔹 Let Go

DANNA FAULDS 🔹 Limitless

DANNA FAULDS 🔹 Praying to be Kind

DANNA FAULDS 🔹 Self-Observation Without Judgement

DANNA FAULDS 🔹 Walk Slowly

DANNA FAULDS 🔹 Whatever Doesn’t Serve

DANUSHA LAMÉRIS 🔹 Small Kindnesses

DAVID KOHN 🔹 Pandemic

DAVID WAGONER 🔹 Lost

DAVID WHYTE 🔹 Enough

DAVID WHYTE 🔹 The Well of Grief

DEREK WALCOTT 🔹 Love After Love

DONNA ASHWORTH 🔷 On Those Days

DOROTHY HUNT 🔹 Peace Is This Moment Without Judgment

ED KLEIN 🔹 Go There Now

ED KLEIN 🔹 Pockets of Silence

ED KLEIN 🔹 Time

ELLEN BASS 🔹 Relax

EVIE (CHRISTINE) WOODS 🔷 Belonging

HAFIZ 🔹 Admit Something

HAFIZ 🔹 Curfews

HAFIZ 🔹 This Sky

HELEN M. LUKE 🔹 "Important""

INNERMADE 🔹 Multitudes

JACQUELINE WOODSON 🔹 Absolute

JAMES WRIGHT 🔹 A Blessing

JANE HIRSHFIELD 🔹 A Cedary Fragrance

JANE HIRSHFIELD 🔹 My Skeleton

JANE KENYON 🔹 Otherwise

JEFF FOSTER 🔹 Victory

JEFF FOSTER 🔹 The Shattering

JEFF FOSTER 🔹 What Would Happen...?

JENNIFER PAINE WELWOOD 🔹 Unconditional

JOHN AUSTIN 🔹 Awareness

JOHN DANIEL 🔹 A Prayer Among Friends

JOHN O'DONOHUE 🔹 For A New Beginning

JOHN O'DONOHUE 🔹 For Belonging

JOHN O'DONOHUE 🔹 For One Who Is Exhausted, A Blessing"