HOPE.... By Emily Dickinson
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There is a quiet place within us, beyond understanding, where grief widens into something vast— and love, without form or name, is revealed.
Silence is not the absence of music. It is music before it becomes sound. And so nothing is added. Nothing is adorned. The experience remains plain, whole, sufficient, and all love is conveyed.
In the deeper forms of experiential healing, memory is not recalled primarily through thought. More often, it returns through the body itself.
We often hear the phrase “hurt people hurt people.” But it is not always so simple.