Balm To My Soul Quotes

My sweetheart! When I think of you, it's as if I'm holding some healing balm to my sick soul, and although i suffer for you, i find that even suffering for you is easy.

My grace is sufficient for thee. The words soothed her soul like a healing balm.

She was my balm, my clam. My Kisa-Anna.

When he turned to her, the moonlight shone upon him in a way that reminded Signa of a painting, wisps of shadows like brushstrokes upon a canvas. “Because I have waited an eternity to meet you, Signa Farrow.” The words were a balm she clung to, relished. “To me, you are a song to a soul that has never known music. Light to someone who has only seen the darkness. You bring out the absolute worst in me, and I become vindictive toward those who treat you in ways I don’t care for. Yet you also bring out the best in me—I want to be better because of you. Better for you. “In all my existence, I’ve asked only for one thing—for one person who might understand me, and whom I could let myself touch. When I touch someone, I see the life they’ve lived in flashes of memories as they die. But the first time I touched you, it was your future I saw. A glimpse of you in my arms, dancing in a beautiful red dress beneath the moonlight.” He tilted her chin up and Signa shivered, savoring the touch. “You are what I want.” He drew his hand away. “I know I cannot force you to want me in return, but say that you do, and I promise that I am wholly and unequivocally yours. Say that you do, and I will make this world everything for you, Signa.

She was like some kind of balm that made all the ravaged and torn pieces of my soul feel less raw.

When you fell into my life, I was shattered beyond repair. But as the shining angel of redemption, you didn’t seem to care. While the tempest swirled around me, you led me to solid ground. You’re the purest, deepest love a man like me has ever found. There is a fire that burns within me that only you can ignite. You’re the light that fills my soul in the darkest, bleakest night. You’re the balm that cures the wound; the lifeline in the storm. You are the song of my heart, the music of my soul.

What is it that wells up so suddenly and menacingly under my heart, swallowing the soft air of melancholy? Are you pleased with us, dark night? What is it you conceal under your mantle, that grabs invisibly and powerfully at my soul? A rich balm drips off your fingers from a bundle of poppies. You raise up the heavy wings of the soul – darkly and inexpressibly we are moved. I see an earnest face startled with joy – softly and reverently it inclines toward me, and under endlessly entangled locks appears the cherished face of our Mother. How poor and childish the light seems to me now − how welcome and blessed is the day’s departure.

Auschwitz was a living nightmare, a place of unimaginable horrors. But I survived because I owed it to my friend Kurt to survive, to live another day so that I might see him again. Having even just one good friend means that the world takes on new meaning. One good friend can be your entire world. This, more than the food we shared or the warm clothes or the medicine, was the most important thing. The best balm for the soul is friendship. And with that friendship, we could do the impossible.

He holds me like no other. His kiss is balm for my soul.

There pass the careless people That call their souls their own: Here by the road I loiter, How idle and alone. Ah, past the plunge of plummet, In seas I cannot sound, My heart and soul and senses, World without end, are drowned. His folly has not fellow Beneath the blue of day That gives to man or woman His heart and soul away. There flowers no balm to sain him From east of earth to west That's lost for everlasting The heart out of his breast. Here by the labouring highway With empty hands I stroll: Sea-deep, till doomsday morning, Lie lost my heart and soul.

Into the darkness of my mind, my soul, I stare. Nothing shall gather within the shadows. In the twisting nettles, the briars, the thorns, I feel the pain that makes me whole. Balm not the biting sands that sting my flesh, for in that sorrow is my joy. To suffer is to live.

When by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head. Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night, Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray, Should sad Despondency my musings fright, And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away, Peep with the moon-beams through the leafy roof, And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof. Should Disappointment, parent of Despair, Strive for her son to seize my careless heart; When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air, Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart: Chace him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright, And fright him as the morning frightens night! Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow, O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer; Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow: Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head! Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain, From cruel parents, or relentless fair; O let me think it is not quite in vain To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air! Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed. And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head! In the long vista of the years to roll, Let me not see our country's honour fade: O let me see our land retain her soul, Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade. From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed-- Beneath thy pinions canopy my head! Let me not see the patriot's high bequest, Great Liberty! how great in plain attire! With the base purple of a court oppress'd, Bowing her head, and ready to expire: But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the skies with silver glitterings! And as, in sparkling majesty, a star Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud; Brightening the half veil'd face of heaven afar: So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed, Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head. - To Hope

The familiarity is balm for my soul and I take a moment to soak it in, hoping my emotions don’t choose this moment to betray me.

This loneliness of mine is like a balm for the wounds in my soul.

My veins almost burst with need. They felt as though they were reaching from my skin, searching for the rush they craved, the liquid that was a balm on my tortured soul. On my sinful soul.

He looked like he wanted to say something but his jaw tensed and instead he let his hand travel from my elbow to my hand, the strong pulse from his fingers like a balm to my injured soul. I raised our entwined hands and placed them over the steady thumping of his heart a twin of the rhythm in my own chest. I pressed my head to his chest letting the steady pace of his heart and his citrusy, musky scent envelop me, lull me into a place of security. A place safe enough that I didn’t have to pretend I was okay. I failed to sniff back the tears that began to leak from me.

Honor was the light that flooded my darkness. She was the glasses to my partially blind eyes. Her kisses were like balm to my wounded soul. Her determination to survive even when odds were against her was my wakeup call.

Frankie wants me dirty. Real. And I want her. Any way I can fucking have her. She belongs to me. Frankie Helburn is mine. She isn’t under my skin. She’s fucking torched it. My flesh burns for her. She’s the flame and the balm, both painful and soothing. I want more of her. All of her. She owns me. Body. Soul. Bloody hands, along with whatever the fuck is left of my heart. It’s hers. All of it. I’m not just obsessed or consumed by Frankie Helburn. I lift her into my arms. Her legs wrap around my waist and our lips crash together. She’s part of me.

Several shades of hazy blue hung over the landscape like a heavy tapestry, giving the Blue Ridge Mountains its name. I stopped at one of the scenic overlooks, switched off the bike, and sat in the absolute stillness of the mountains. Their silence was a soothing balm for my soul. The maternal rhythm of nature is a tonic that heals emotionally. I just wanted to sit still, breathe deeply, and match my heartbeat to that rhythm.

However, those whose souls are healed by the balm of elegance can find in TDD a way to do well by doing good. TDD is also good for geeks who form emotional attachments to code. One of the great frustrations of my young engineer's life was starting a project with great excitement, then watching the code base decay over time. A year later I wanted nothing more than to dump the now-smelly code and get on to the next project. TDD enables you to gain confidence in the code over time. As tests accumulate (and your testing improves), you gain confidence in the behavior of the system. As you refine the design, more and more changes become possible. My goal is to feel better about a project after a year than I did in the starry-eyed beginning, and TDD helps me achieve this.

Your pupils are dilated." "It's a design flaw. It happens when sexy men get too close." A smile tugged at his lips. "You think I'm sexy?" "You are when you talk in that soft, deep voice and sit so close I can feel the heat of your body, and wear that craze-inducing cologne, and cradle my face like I'm a delicate flower." She licked her lips and his gaze fell to her soft, lush mouth. It was an invitation he couldn't ignore. "You forgot the part where I tried to kill you by crashing into a deer at high speed," he offered, just in case he was misreading the signs. "I'm trying not to remember it because you busted out some pretty slick moves to keep us from going over the cliff. Nothing sexier than a man who can stay calm in a crisis and save a girl so she can live to get fired another day. You, Sam Mehta, are a hero." She thought he was worthy. It was a balm to his soul.

February 20 MORNING “God, that comforteth those that are cast down.” — 2 Corinthians 7:6 AND who comforteth like Him? Go to some poor, melancholy, distressed child of God; tell him sweet promises, and whisper in his ear choice words of comfort; he is like the deaf adder, he listens not to the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely. He is drinking gall and wormwood, and comfort him as you may, it will be only a note or two of mournful resignation that you will get from him; you will bring forth no psalms of praise, no hallelujahs, no joyful sonnets. But let God come to His child, let Him lift up his countenance, and the mourner’s eyes glisten with hope. Do you not hear him sing — “ ’Tis paradise, if thou art here; If thou depart, ’tis hell”? You could not have cheered him: but the Lord has done it; “He is the God of all comfort.” There is no balm in Gilead, but there is balm in God. There is no physician among the creatures, but the Creator is Jehovah-rophi. It is marvellous how one sweet word of God will make whole songs for Christians. One word of God is like a piece of gold, and the Christian is the goldbeater, and can hammer that promise out for whole weeks. So, then, poor Christian, thou needest not sit down in despair. Go to the Comforter, and ask Him to give thee consolation. Thou art a poor dry well. You have heard it said, that when a pump is dry, you must pour water down it first of all, and then you will get water, and so, Christian, when thou art dry, go to God, ask Him to shed abroad His joy in thy heart, and then thy joy shall be full. Do not go to earthly acquaintances, for you will find them Job’s comforters after all; but go first and foremost to thy “God, that comforteth those that are cast down,” and you will soon say, “In the multitude of my thoughts within me Thy comforts delight my soul.

I’m Fine I stand on the precipice of solitude, A tempest raging within, unseen by all. They depart, like autumn leaves in the wind, Their absence a hollow echo, a fading call. I don’t care who leaves my life, Their footsteps erased from the sands of time. The bonds we wove, now frayed and brittle, Yet I stand resolute, unyielding, in my prime. The pain, a searing fire, consumes my chest, Anger coils like vipers, venomous and cold. They say love is a balm, a healing touch, But what if love itself is the blade that unfolds? I lose them, one by one, like stars in the night, Their constellations fading, swallowed by the void. Yet I cling to my essence, my fractured soul, For in this desolation, I find strength, unalloyed. I don’t care who I lose, for they are but shadows, Their laughter, their tears, mere echoes in the gale. As long as I don’t lose myself, my core unshaken, I’ll wear this mask of indifference, my heart’s veiled tale. So let them depart, let them fade into oblivion, I’ll stand here, battered and scarred, but alive. For I am the tempest, the flame, the unyielding force, And in this fractured existence, I’m fine

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast Oh, I was but a wounded Beast Teeth gnashing from a brutal feast Wolfing down with others; consuming every bite Eating every poison laid before my sight I dined upon Iniquity’s endless shelf Blindly feeding, greedily…on myself Oh, I was but a wounded Beast Expiring with every taste of yeast Belly puffed and sour with death A haunting shutter with every breath Full of nothing but vanity Dipped in pleasure and tragedy Oh, I was but a wounded Beast As the West is far from the East I charted the lust of mine own eyes Thus, in my folly…I was sure to die My soul knew nothing of sacrifice Instead I danced with every vice Oh, I was but a wounded Beast You found me broken and utterly fleeced Naked, abandoned and truly alone You nurtured the wounds to which you sewn You gave me bread, You sang me a song And touched my wounds with a loving balm Oh, I was but a wounded Beast Yet, You taught me wisdom’s leash So I walk with you…dawn through night Quenched by your fount of love and light No darkness, no hate not a selfish bone Can feed this fiend that You’ve atoned Oh, I was, but a wounded Beast! ~Jason Neville Versey

Torin, I didn’t know it was possible to find someone like you. You love me for who I am, not what I am. You’ve taught me that it’s okay to walk on my own, yet you’re always there to carry me when I can’t. You’ve taught me it’s okay to run, stumble, and fall, and pick myself up because a fall is nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve taught me it’s okay to fly because the sky is the limit and you’ll catch me if I fall. You inspire me, challenge me, and celebrate me. You are the first man I’ve ever loved and you will be the last man I’ll ever love. You are my one and only true love, and I promise I will love you for eternity.” Hawk draped the silk rope around our wrists and picked up the second one. Torin looked into my eyes as he started to speak, his voice sure, his words sincere. “Raine Cooper, from the moment you opened your door and our eyes met for the first time, I knew I had reached the end of my quest, yet I didn’t even know what I was searching for. I just knew you were the one, my omega. Where there was cold, you’ve brought warmth. Where there was sadness, you’ve brought happiness. Where there was pain, you’ve brought relief. Where there was darkness, you’ve brought light. You know me better than anyone, my fears, my shortcomings, my habits, yet you still love me. My vows to you are a privilege because I get to laugh with you, cry with you, walk with you, run with you, and fight with you for the rest of our lives. I promise to be patient. Most of the time,” he added, smiling. “I promise to be faithful, respectful, attentive, and to become even a better man for you. I promise to celebrate your triumphs and step back so you can shine like the star you are, but I’ll always be there when you need me. My shoulders are yours to cry on and to carry your burdens. My body is the shield that blocks the blows that might harm you and yours to do with as you wish. My hopes and dreams will always start and end with you. Yours will be the name I cry when I’m in need. Your eyes are the balm I seek when I’m in pain. And your soul is the beacon that my soul searches for when I’m lost. I will love you fiercely, tenderly, and passionately. And when we have children, I promise to be the best father a child could ever want. For you, Raine Cooper, deserve the best and I plan to give it you. You are my one and only true love, and I promise I will love you for eternity.

Pieces of my self. I have come to realise that our soul is not a static element or something that we can ever put in words. It is something that we find and embrace in bits and pieces flowing through an endless journey of life. Sometimes we find a halo of it in the setting sun while sometimes we chase its harmony in a distant sunrise. We have moments in Life, defining our traits, when some incident or some part of our Life changes forever rather takes shape forever but that too is not entirely rigid, they too flow with our soul and may be years or even moments later they change shape into something that twinkles more with our soul. It is a process of learning, unlearning and relearning where everything that we assemble in this Lifetime is like a free flowing river which meanders its way onto an ocean. And the ocean is Love. Not the Love that we often imagine it be, it is something beyond any imagination or definition. It is an air that absorbs every other force of Nature and releases them through the filter of Wisdom. It is about understanding our innermost fear and fighting it out with the indomitable courage that is always lurking in the deepest part of our heart. It is about knowing how contagious kindness can be and becoming the reflector of grace through our very existence. It is about embracing every chapter of our life with gratitude for the path that our spirit has chosen beyond boundaries and limits. It is about growing and healing. Growing through a voyage that is endless in this Cosmic ocean and healing through the balm of connections. I have realised that every connection that we make even if it is for a fraction of a second stays on within our soul and every alley that we explore leads us to a place that is closer to our destination. Sometimes the Destination gets blurred through the noises of all that is tangible in our surroundings and we often grow exhausted on this journey, it is then that we grow, trying to walk over a pyre of our failures, lost bonds, detours and everything that are capable of pulling us down they become stars, like the fireflies that show us the path to bring us closer to our soul, to put back the pieces of our self. They make us all that we stand as a whole. So especially when we run out of our strength somewhere in some hidden alley of our soul, something burns in our soul, a flicker of our passion guiding us home, where the pieces of our soul dance in a mad harmony to awaken the flame that lights our way onto a destination, wandering along the edge of a purpose that breathes through scattered pieces of our self, basking in the halo of eternity.

In Your presence is fullness of joy and peace that passes all understanding. Let Your grace and mercy be a healing balm to my heart. Your forgiveness cleanses and purifies my soul.

Balm to my soul.’ Chris smiled. ‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I’m taking this drive along the valley rather than going up the plateau road, which can be a bit hair-raising.’ ‘Who lives around here?’ ‘All sorts; families running dairy or beef herds, hobby farmers starting up gourmet enterprises, a few old hippies, and even a few wealthy folk in their hideaway holiday homes.’ ‘A

Visitation My child – visitation – ” “There is coming the day upon the Earth very soon, My child – when all those who have sought Me – who have yearned for My presence – who have stood strong even in the midst of death and destruction and of hurt and of anguish – and of promises and visions not yet fulfilled – to these ones, beloved – comes My day of visitation – when I, Jesus Myself, shall be with My people. “When they shall know the Balm of Gilead to heal their broken hearts – when they shall feel the oil of My presence and anointing wash over their souls – when they shall feel My healing touch even as it was upon the Earth when I laid My hands on the sick to make them whole.

Sleep, with her tender balm, her touch so kind,         Has passed me by; Afar I see her vesture, velvet-lined,         Float silently; O! Sleep, my tired eyes had need of thee! Is thy sweet kiss not meant to-night for me? Peace, with the blessings that I longed for so,         Has passed me by; Where'er she folds her holy wings I know         All tempests die; O! Peace, my tired soul had need of thee!

The longest chapter in the Bible touts the Scriptures as being a soothing balm for the Psalmist’s troubled emotions. He doesn’t reveal what is rocking his boat, but the author of Psalm 119 is clearly under pressure. Repeatedly, the Psalmist says that his soul is “crushed with longing” (vs. 20), and that he is being treated poorly by somebody (vs. 22). So how does the Psalmist find comfort? You guessed it — from the Word of God. My soul weeps because of grief; strengthen me according to Your word (Psalm 119:28). That theme is repeated for 176 verses. Whatever is getting the Psalmist’s goat, he makes it clear that there is only one solution for his situation; the Word of God.

Into the darkness of my mind, my soul, I stare. Nothing shall gather within the shadows. In the twisting nettles, the briars, the thorns, I feel the pain that makes me whole. Balm not the biting sands that sting my flesh, for in that sorrow is my joy. To suffer is to live.” Aon

The sensation I was feeling on the clifftop was some sort of reverberation in the air itself.… The whale had submerged and I was still feeling something. The strange rhythm seemed now to be coming from behind me, from the land, so I turned to look across the gorge … where my heart stopped.… Standing there in the shade of the tree was an elephant … staring out to sea!… A female with a left tusk broken off near the base.… I knew who she was, who she had to be. I recognized her from a color photograph put out by the Department of Water Affairs and Forestry under the title “The Last Remaining Knysna Elephant.” This was the Matriarch herself.… She was here because she no longer had anyone to talk to in the forest. She was standing here on the edge of the ocean because it was the next, nearest, and most powerful source of infrasound. The underrumble of the surf would have been well within her range, a soothing balm for an animal used to being surrounded by low and comforting frequencies, by the lifesounds of a herd, and now this was the next-best thing. My heart went out to her. The whole idea of this grandmother of many being alone for the first time in her life was tragic, conjuring up the vision of countless other old and lonely souls. But just as I was about to be consumed by helpless sorrow, something even more extraordinary took place.… The throbbing was back in the air. I could feel it, and I began to understand why. The blue whale was on the surface again, pointed inshore, resting, her blowhole clearly visible. The Matriarch was here for the whale! The largest animal in the ocean and the largest living land animal were no more than a hundred yards apart, and I was convinced that they were communicating! In infrasound, in concert, sharing big brains and long lives, understanding the pain of high investment in a few precious offspring, aware of the importance and the pleasure of complex sociality, these rare and lovely great ladies were commiserating over the back fence of this rocky Cape shore, woman to woman, matriarch to matriarch, almost the last of their kind. I turned, blinking away the tears, and left them to it. This was no place for a mere man

My friend Naomi has also found solace for her soul. She shared the following with me: "The healing balm of my Savior's Atonement has been the most constant source of peace and refuge throughout my journey. When I feel alone in my struggle, I am reminded that He has already experienced exactly what I am going through on my behalf. . . . There is so much hope in knowing that my future perfected, resurrected body will not be plagued by this mortal [affliction].

I never believed in love until I met you, Rosie. At least not for me, but you proved me wrong. I wasn’t lying when I said you’re a revolution for the soul, but what you don’t know is you’re so much more than that. You’re a balm to my soul, and while I know I don’t deserve you, I will spend every damn day of my life becoming worthy of you. Will you marry me, Rosie?” “No,” she whispered. “No?” He blinked.

Thank god for beauty, a balm to the soul.

But if you hated it so much, then… why did you do it? Why did you listen to me?” When he turned to her, the moonlight shone upon him in a way that reminded Signa of a painting, wisps of shadows like brushstrokes upon a canvas. “Because I have waited an eternity to meet you, Signa Farrow.” The words were a balm she clung to, relished. “To me, you are a song to a soul that has never known music. Light to someone who has only seen the darkness. You bring out the absolute worst in me, and I become vindictive toward those who treat you in ways I don’t care for. Yet you also bring out the best in me—I want to be better because of you. Better for you. “In all my existence, I’ve asked only for one thing—for one person who might understand me, and whom I could let myself touch. When I touch someone, I see the life they’ve lived in flashes of memories as they die. But the first time I touched you, it was your future I saw. A glimpse of you in my arms, dancing in a beautiful red dress beneath the moonlight.” He tilted her chin up and Signa shivered, savoring the touch. “You are what I want.” He drew his hand away. “I know I cannot force you to want me in return, but say that you do, and I promise that I am wholly and unequivocally yours. Say that you do, and I will make this world everything for you, Signa.

You have complete control over our relationship.” One of the most powerful men I know is giving me complete control. I inhale deeply, his words acting as a soothing balm to my soul. They make me feel safe.

The Son of a vacuum Among the tall trees he sat lost, broken, alone again, among a number of illegal immigrants, he raised his head to him without fear, as nothing in this world is worth attention. -He said: I am not a hero; I am nothing but a child looking for Eid. The Turkmen of Iraq, are the descendants of Turkish immigrants to Mesopotamia through successive eras of history. Before and after the establishment of the Ottoman Empire, countries crossed from here, and empires that were born and disappeared, and still, preserve their Turkish identity. Although, after the collapse of the Ottoman Empire and the division of the Arab world, they now live in one of its countries. Kirkuk, one of the heavens of God on earth, is one of the northern governorates of Iraq in which they live. The Kurdish race is shared with them, a race out of many in Iraq. Two children of two different ethnicities, playing in a village square in Kirkuk province when the news came from Baghdad, of a new military coup. Without delay, Saddam Hussein took over the reins of power, and faster than that, Iraq was plunged into successive wars that began in 1980 with its neighbor Iran, a war that lasted eight years. Iraq barely rested for two years, and in the third, a new war in Kuwait, which did not end in the best condition as the leader had hoped, as he was expelled from it after the establishment of an international coalition to liberate it, led by the United States of America. Iraq entered a new phase of suffering, a siege that lasted more than ten years, and ended up with the removal of Saddam Hussein from his power followed by the US occupation of it in 2003. As the father goes, he returns from this road, there is no way back but from it. As the date approaches, the son stands on the back of that hill waiting for him to return. From far away he waved a longing, with a bag of dreams in his hands, a bag of candy in his pocket, and a poem of longing by a Turkmen poet who absorb Arabic, whose words danced on his lips, in his heart. -When will you come back, dad? -On the Eid, wait for me on the hill, you will see me coming from the road, waving, carrying your gifts. The father bid his son farewell to the Arab Shiite city of Basra, on the border with Iran, after the outbreak of the Iran-Iraq war, as the homeland is calling its men, or perhaps the leader is calling his subjects. In Iraq, as in many countries of the Arab world, the homeland is the leader, and the leader is the homeland. Months passed, the child eagerly anticipating the coming of the feast, but the father hurried to return without an appointment, loaded on the shoulders, the passion reached its extent in the martyr’s chest, with a sheet of paper in his pocket on which he wrote: Every morning takes me nostalgic for you, to the jasmine flower, oh, melody in the heart, oh balm I sip every while, To you, I extend a hand and a fire that ignites in the soul a buried love, night shakes me with tears in my eyes, my longing for you has shaped me into dreams, stretching footsteps to the left and to the right, gleam, calling out for me, you scream, waking me up to the glimpse of the light of life in your face, a thousand sparkles, in your eyes, a meaning of survival, a smile, and a glace, Eid comes to you as a companion, without, life yet has no trace, for roses, necklaces of love, so that you amaze. -Where is Ruslan? On the morning of the feast day, at the door of his house, the kids asked his mother, -with tears in her eyes: He went to meet his father. A moment of silence fell over the children, -Raman, with a little gut: Aunt, do you mean he went to the cemetery? -Mother: He went to meet him at those hills.

She is the balm on my wounded soul. She soothes where everything burns. She smooths the scars flat until I can pretend I’m whole again.

In melodies of longing, my heart does play, A saxophonist's soul, in love's ballet. Our meetings planned, yet fate intervenes, A cosmic dance, behind the scenes. His saxophone whispers in the midnight air, Each note a promise, a love affair. Yet life's interruptions, a relentless rhyme, But through the strains, love stands the test of time. In dreams, I see his star ascending high, Prosperity blooms beneath the sky. His saxophone weaves dreams untold, A symphony of success, a story to unfold. I yearn for his pain to gently sway, In the cadence of a brighter day. For within my love, a healing balm, To soothe his soul, bring tranquil calm. As dreams align, and stars align, May his saxophone play a melody divine. In the crescendo of life, may joy take flight, And love's song serenade the darkest night.

When she leaned back, her smile filled all the dark, cracked places in my soul. I never really noticed how many I had before. Protecting her offered a measure of balm that I’d never had previously. But loving her? More, having her love me? Yeah, that sealed up the cracks, knitting them back together.

Like what?” His voice was a balm on my soul. I missed our little talks.

My self-esteem undoes at the understanding that it’s where I want to be. As tight as I can I gripped back, keen to take the soothing balm his hold proposals for my ravaged soul and his? Nothing can hold back the break of awesome feelings. Submerged like water running down on me with a feeling, I weep- my broken heart out against his firm familiar chest, yes, I cried the first time all girls do! A strangled moan escapes him. ‘Oh, Karly!’ He closes his eyes, creasing them up as he struggles with some internal mêlée. When they open, I see a flicker of resolution before his strong arms wrap around me with such a hold down on me… like a drowning me in, so I don’t go under. He crushes me against his length, his agitated heat almost scorching hot in his body heat.

The sensation I was feeling on the clifftop was some sort of reverberation in the air itself.… The whale had submerged and I was still feeling something. The strange rhythm seemed now to be coming from behind me, from the land, so I turned to look across the gorge … where my heart stopped.… Standing there in the shade of the tree was an elephant … staring out to sea!… A female with a left tusk broken off near the base.… I knew who she was, who she had to be. I recognized her from a color photograph put out by the Department of Water Affairs and Forestry under the title “The Last Remaining Knysna Elephant.” This was the Matriarch herself.… She was here because she no longer had anyone to talk to in the forest. She was standing here on the edge of the ocean because it was the next, nearest, and most powerful source of infrasound. The underrumble of the surf would have been well within her range, a soothing balm for an animal used to being surrounded by low and comforting frequencies, by the lifesounds of a herd, and now this was the next-best thing. My heart went out to her. The whole idea of this grandmother of many being alone for the first time in her life was tragic, conjuring up the vision of countless other old and lonely souls. But just as I was about to be consumed by helpless sorrow, something even more extraordinary took place.… The throbbing was back in the air. I could feel it, and I began to understand why. The blue whale was on the surface again, pointed inshore, resting, her blowhole clearly visible. The Matriarch was here for the whale! The largest animal in the ocean and the largest living land animal were no more than a hundred yards apart, and I was convinced that they were communicating! In infrasound, in concert, sharing big brains and long lives, understanding the pain of high investment in a few precious offspring, aware of the importance and the pleasure of complex sociality, these rare and lovely great ladies were commiserating over the back fence of this rocky Cape shore, woman to woman, matriarch to matriarch, almost the last of their kind. I turned, blinking away the tears, and left them to it. This was no place for a mere man.… Early afternoon. They were coming to this place, to this tall grass, all along. They will feed here for a while and then, because there’s no water right here, go down to where those egrets are. There’s water there. After they’ve had a good drink, they might make a big loop and come back here again later to feed some more. It will be a one-family-at-a-time choice as the adults decide when to drink and bathe. When elephants are finally ready to make a significant move, everyone points in the same direction. But they do wait until the matriarch decides. “I’ve seen families cued up waiting for half an hour,” comments Vicki, “waiting for the matriarch to signal, ‘Okay.’” And now they go. Makelele, eleven years old, walks with a deep limp. Five years ago he showed up with a broken right rear leg. It must have been agony, and it’s healed at a horrible angle, almost as if his knee faces backward, shaping that leg like the hock on a horse. Yet he is here, surviving with a little help from his friends. “He’s slow,” Vicki acknowledges. “It’s remarkable that he’s managing, but his family seems to wait for him.” Another Amboseli elephant, named Tito, broke a leg when he was a year old, probably from falling into a garbage pit.

Under His wings I am safely abiding, Though the night deepens and tempests are wild, Still I can trust Him; I know He will keep me, He has redeemed me, and I am His child. Under His wings, what a refuge in sorrow! How the heart yearningly turns to His rest! Often when earth has no balm for my healing, There I find comfort, and there I am blessed. Under His wings, oh, what precious enjoyment! There will I hide till life’s trials are o’er; Sheltered, protected, no evil can harm me, Resting in Jesus, I’m safe evermore. Under His wings, under His wings, Who from His love can sever? Under His wings my soul shall abide, Safely abide forever. He shall cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you shall take refuge. – Psalm 91:4

Judge: Mr. Larch, you've heard the case for the prosecution. Is there anything you wish to say before I pass sentence? Mr. Larch: Well... I'd just like to say, m'lud, I've got a family ... a wife and six kids ... and I hope very much you don't have to take away my freedom ... because ... well, because m'lud, freedom is a state much prized within the realm of civilized society. It is a bond wherewith the savage man may charm the outward hatchments of his soul, and soothe the troubled breast into a magnitude of quiet. It is most precious as a blessed balm, the savior of princes, the harbinger of happiness, yea, the very stuff and pith of all we hold most dear. What frees the prisoner in his lonely cell, chained within the bondage of rude walls, far from the owl of Thebes? What fires and stirs the woodcock in his springe or wakes the drowsy apricot betide? What goddess doth the storm-tossd mariner offer most tempestuous prayers to? Freedom! Freedom! Freedom! Judge: It's only a bloody parking offence.

What sort of answer would you like to hear?” “An honest one.” “Are you certain? It’s my experience that young ladies vastly prefer fictions. Little stories, like Portia’s gothic novel.” “I am as fond of a good tale as anyone,” she replied, “but in this instance, I wish to know the truth.” “So you say. Let us try an experiment, shall we?” He rose from his chair and sauntered toward her, his expression one of jaded languor. His every movement a negotiation between aristocratic grace and sheer brute strength. Power. He radiated power in every form—physical, intellectual, sensual—and he knew it. He knew that she sensed it. The fire was unbearably warm now. Blistering, really. Sweat beaded at her hairline, but Cecily would not retreat. “I could tell you,” he said darkly, seductively, “that I kissed you that night because I was desperate with love for you, overcome with passion, and that the color of my ardor has only deepened with time and separation. And that when I lay on a battlefield bleeding my guts out, surrounded by meaningless death and destruction, I remembered that kiss and was able to believe that there was something of innocence and beauty in this world, and it was you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Almost. Warm breath caressed her fingertips. “Do you like that answer?” She gave a breathless nod. She was a fool; she couldn’t help it. “You see?” He kissed her fingers. “Young ladies prefer fictions.” “You are a cad.” Cecily wrenched her hand away and balled it into a fist. “An arrogant, insufferable cad.” “Yes, yes. Now we come to the truth. Shall I give you an honest answer, then? That I kissed you that night for no other reason than that you looked uncommonly pretty and fresh, and though I doubted my ability to vanquish Napoleon, it was some balm to my pride to conquer you, to feel you tremble under my touch? And that now I return from war, to find everything changed, myself most of all. I scarcely recognize my surroundings, except . . .” He cupped her chin in his hand and lightly framed her jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “Except Cecily Hale still looks at me with stars in her eyes, the same as she ever did. And when I touch her, she still trembles.” Oh. She was trembling. He swept his thumb across her cheek, and even her hair shivered. “And suddenly . . .” His voice cracked. Some unrehearsed emotion pitched his dispassionate drawl into a warm, expressive whisper. “Suddenly, I find myself determined to keep this one thing constant in my universe. Forever.” She swallowed hard. “Do you intend to propose to me?” “I don’t think so, no.” He caressed her cheek again. “I’ve no reason to.” “No reason?” Had she thought her humiliation complete? No, it seemed to be only beginning. “I’ll get my wish, Cecy, whether I propose to you or not. You can marry Denny, and I’ll still catch you stealing those starry looks at me across drawing rooms, ten years from now. You can share a bed with him, but I’ll still haunt your dreams. Perhaps once a year on your birthday—or perhaps on mine—I’ll contrive to brush a single fingertip oh-so-lightly between your shoulder blades, just to savor that delicious tremor.” He demonstrated, and she hated her body for responding just as he’d predicted. An ironic smile crooked his lips. “You see? You can marry anyone or no one. But you’ll always be mine.” “I will not,” she choked out, pulling away. “I will put you out of my mind forever. You are not so very handsome, you know, for all that.” “No, I’m not,” he said, chuckling. “And there’s the wonder of it. It’s nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you. I know you, Cecily. You may try to put me out of your mind. You may even succeed. But you’ve built a home for me in your heart, and you’re too generous a soul to cast me out now.” She shook her head. “I—” “Don’t.” With a sudden, powerful movement, he grasped her waist and brought her to him, holding her tight against his chest. “Don’t cast me out.” His

Turn out all thoughts of doubt and trouble. Never tolerate them for one second. Bar the windows and doors of your soul against them as you would bar your home against a thief who would steal in to take your treasures. What greater treasures can you have than Peace and Rest and Joy? And these are all stolen from you by doubt and fear and despair. Face each day with Love and Laughter. Face the storm. Joy, Peace, Love, My great gifts. Follow Me to find all three. I want you to feel the thrill of protection and safety. Any soul can feel this in a harbor, but real joy and victory come to those alone who sense these when they ride a storm. Say, “all is well.” Say it not as a vain repetition. Use it as you would use a healing balm for cut or wound, until the poison is drawn out; then, until the sore is healed, then, until the thrill of fresh life floods your being. All is well. 1

Do I think about him you ask? I don’t. I cannot. Because thinking is a conscious action. Something mindful and knowing. He is innate. He is always there. Somewhere. In my gestures. In my words. In my emotions.  In my moods.Do I love him you ask? I don’t know how to answer this. He entered my life like a whiff of sublime fragrance, making his way into the deep ravines of my heart. He became the balm for my aching soul. He became the wind beneath my weary wings. He became the mirror for me to see myself. I surrendered. I felt. I lived.His caress wakes me up at the crack of dawn. His gaze melts me as the scarlet rays of the setting sun illuminate my heart. His embrace fills me with hope as I soak in the radiance of the moonlit sky. With him, I have dared to dig the long buried corners within. With him, I have blossomed like a self-propelled flower.I don’t know if I love him, but I love myself when I am with him. And that I believe might be one and the same thing. 

The sensation I was feeling on the clifftop was some sort of reverberation in the air itself.… The whale had submerged and I was still feeling something. The strange rhythm seemed now to be coming from behind me, from the land, so I turned to look across the gorge … where my heart stopped.… Standing there in the shade of the tree was an elephant … staring out to sea!… A female with a left tusk broken off near the base.… I knew who she was, who she had to be. I recognized her from a color photograph put out by the Department of Water Affairs and Forestry under the title “The Last Remaining Knysna Elephant.” This was the Matriarch herself.… She was here because she no longer had anyone to talk to in the forest. She was standing here on the edge of the ocean because it was the next, nearest, and most powerful source of infrasound. The underrumble of the surf would have been well within her range, a soothing balm for an animal used to being surrounded by low and comforting frequencies, by the lifesounds of a herd, and now this was the next-best thing. My heart went out to her. The whole idea of this grandmother of many being alone for the first time in her life was tragic, conjuring up the vision of countless other old and lonely souls. But just as I was about to be consumed by helpless sorrow, something even more extraordinary took place.… The throbbing was back in the air. I could feel it, and I began to understand why. The blue whale was on the surface again, pointed inshore, resting, her blowhole clearly visible. The Matriarch was here for the whale! The largest animal in the ocean and the largest living land animal were no more than a hundred yards apart, and I was convinced that they were communicating! In infrasound, in concert, sharing big brains and long lives, understanding the pain of high investment in a few precious offspring, aware of the importance and the pleasure of complex sociality, these rare and lovely great ladies were commiserating over the back fence of this rocky Cape shore, woman to woman, matriarch to matriarch, almost the last of their kind. I turned, blinking away the tears, and left them to it. This was no place for a mere man.

Annie was so much more than my best friend. She was a balm for my tattered soul.

When I am grieved in spirit, or vexed in temper, by the unavoidable cares of my little world, I go out and -work- in my garden; and in the healthful exercise of body, and the beautiful soul-subduing quiet that pervades the place, and steals like a healing balm over my mind, I soon forget my troubles.' -- ELIZABETH CARRINGTON MORRIS, Article for -American Agriculturalist-, April 1846.

Reading is a balm to my soul and calms my heart. No matter what’s going on in my life, reading takes me to another place that makes everything better