Harmonics

Harmonics
Image: John Whitney

As the sound of sorrow multiplies

So does the song of hope.

As fear reverberates

So can circles of compassion.

As hate amplifies,

So does love.

We can choose.

Which harmonics

To make ours.

For The Daily Post

 

Measure of Hope

measure

In every time of

Hardship

There is a

Measure of

Hope.

In every time of sorrow

There is a

Measure of

Love

For what was

Lost.

In every uphill struggle

There is a

Measure of

Vistas

To be reached.

In every battle

There

Must

Be

A measure of

Understanding

For the

Absolute

Necessity

Of

Peace.

For The Daily Post

Champion Compassion

love4

Champion compassion, not judgment.

Hold close kindness rather than disdain.

Treasure connection over hierarchy.

Prize intention above gain.

Cherish empathy, for it will nourish.

Uphold truth …

Remember

Learn.

Protect hearts, and peace will follow.

Defend the weak, and they’ll be strong.

Nurture hope, and it will grow sturdy.

Safeguard the Earth

Where

All

belong.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Elixir of Hope: The Recipe

elixir

In one heart, mix equal parts:

Pearls of connection, words of caring, acts of kindness, steps of courage, hugs of comfort, breaths of peace, paths of truth, smiles of joy, touches of compassion.

Brew with gentleness till ample Hope forms.

 

For The Daily Post

Ascend

 

Cavedale Photo by Keartona

Cavedale. Hope Valley, UK

 

 

Conquer worry, vanquish panic

Climb peaks of improbability

And do not let what is or isn’t feasible

Take the best of what

Is possible.

Master hope

Defeat all hate

Into compassionate submission.

Ascend into yourself

As you were meant to be:

A part of all that is

Uniquely interconnected

No better and no less

Than any other who draws breath.

 

For The Daily Post

 

Birth of Hope

magic-etsy-com

 

“I didn’t think it was possible,” she said. Her hand hovered close over her heart, a tremor perhaps mirroring the flutter inside. “I never dared to even hope.”

A budding of something long buried illuminated her face, softened the crows’ feet around her eyes, smoothed a line of worry that had etched itself, preemptive and ever-wary, onto her forehead.

It’s been such a very long road.

“Can you believe it? At my age?” She shook her head, amazed.

She lowered herself to the couch and patted her own knee in self-comfort or maybe to convince herself that she was real and wasn’t dreaming.

Her voice whispered wonder. “He loved it. Bought it on the spot. My baby. My first sculpture, sold.”

Awake

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                                                                  Atlantic Sunrise: Na’ama Yehuda

 

 

Be awake.

In the world. For the world.

Be aware.

Of the life that unfolds

On pinpoint.

Keep your eyes

Open.

And your heart

Soft.

Wake up all words

Of hope.

Even those

Packed away in tight bundles

And locked.

Be awake

To the air. To the light. To the rain.

As shimmer reflects

And compassion

Remains.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Can You Hear?

Can you hear the hearts that beat

across the mountains, deserts, oceans

hoping for safe harbor,

an anchor

home?

Can you see small fingers gripping

other little hands

bereft of parents,

lost,

alone?

Can you hear the soft breaths

of babies

sleeping

in tired arms

weighted by

desperation,

violence, hate, war?

Can you hear the calls

in dreams

in prayer

for safe passage

for a welcome

to belong?

Can you —

how can you not —

hear,

the urgency

of hope

that hardship snuffed

and yet

still

yearns to grow?

 

refugees-express-co-uk

Photo by express.co.uk

 

 

For the Daily Post

 

Above all, Love.

Breathe now

The light

That dances on the pavement

Filters between branches of bare trees

From winter sky.

Breathe now

Because the truth

Remains

In spite

Of images

Or imaginings

Of misplaced

Amplified

Fear.

Breathe …

Because above all,

Love.

Of life

Of nature

Earth

All babies

Freedom

Oxygen and gravity.

Love of

Heart strings and connection

Of compassion

And

The ties that bind.

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Photo by A.Katz

 

For The Daily Post

The Scent of Home

syrianrefugee-unicef-photo

Child Refugee – Photo by UNICEF

The scent of home that she no longer has.

The spices, baking, the aromas

Of togetherness

And family

And love.

The scent of grandma,

Gone,

Killed by bombs.

The scent of ugliness

And war.

The scent of mornings

Blurred by smoke.

The scent of sea, now tainted

With the stink of gasoline

And sick

And worry.

The scent of tent

And mud

Hunger

Cold.

The scent of hope

Faint but held

In Baba’s handkerchief —

He said he’ll find them

One day

In Wherever Land.

The scent of fear

In mother’s arms

Trying to filter comfort through her own terror

Devastation. Loss.

The scent of home that she no longer has

Wafting away

In search

Of someone

Who will help

Her

Make a new one.