Hugs Heal Quotes

We were not a hugging people. In terms of emotional comfort it was our belief that no amount of physical contact could match the healing powers of a well made cocktail.

This life is for loving, sharing, learning, smiling, caring, forgiving, laughing, hugging, helping, dancing, wondering, healing, and even more loving. I choose to live life this way. I want to live my life in such a way that when I get out of bed in the morning, the devil says, 'aw shit, he's up!

Somebody needs what you have to give. It may not be your money; it may be your time. It may be your listening ear. It may be your arms to encourage. It may be your smile to uplift. Who knows? Maybe just like that little baby, putting your arm around somebody and letting him or her know that you care can help begin to heal that person’s heart. Maybe you can give a rescuing hug.

My heart raced. Part of me wanted to draw him into a hug and heal his wounds, and part of me wished to ferret out all his secrets and piece the puzzle of him together this instant.

Trauma isn’t just the sadness that comes from being beaten, or neglected, or insulted. That’s just one layer of it. Trauma also is mourning the childhood you could have had. The childhood other kids around you had. The fact that you could have had a mom who hugged and kissed you when you skinned your knee. Or a dad who stayed and brought you a bouquet of flowers at your graduation. Trauma is mourning the fact that, as an adult, you have to parent yourself. You have to stand in your kitchen, starving, near tears, next to a burnt chicken, and you can’t call your mom to tell her about it, to listen to her tell you that it’s okay, to ask if you can come over for some of her cooking. Instead, you have to pull up your bootstraps and solve the painful puzzle of your life by yourself. What other choice do you have? Nobody else is going to solve it for you.

Hugs should be available at the medical stores 24/7. Sometimes, they are the best healers for almost everything.

It is not depression or anxiety that truly hurts us. It is our active resistance against these states of mind and body. If you wake up with low energy, hopeless thoughts, and a lack of motivation - that is a signal from you to you. That is a sure sign that something in your mind or in your life is making you sick, and you must attend to that signal. But what do most people do? They hate their depressed feelings. They think "Why me?" They push them down. They take a pill. And so, the feelings return again and again, knocking at your door with a message while you turn up all the noise in your cave, refusing to hear the knocks. Madness. Open the door. Invite in depression. Invite anxiety. Invite self-hatred. Invite shame. Hear their message. Give them a hug. Accept their tirades as exaggerated mistruths typical of any upset person. Love your darkness and you shall know your light.

(Ragnar just came back from the war.) Then Keita the Viper spun around and ran into his arms, hugging him tight. "This is all your fault!" she accused. "What is?" "How much I missed you! And I was shockingly worried about you. I actually cared if you were hurt or had been damaged in some way. She leaned back, squinted up at him. "You weren't, were you? Damaged?" "Not so that I won't heal." "Good." She rested her head on his chest. "Believe it or not, I don't know what I'd have done if something happened to you." Keita abruptly pulled back from him and punched him in the chest. "What have you done to me, foreigner? Well, let me make it plain that you'll not trap me in your evil web of amazing sex and unconditional love! I'm stronger than that!" And Ragnar sighed...loudly.

Can a smile be deceiving enough? You see that laugh and assume everything is alright. Can words of sympathy be genuine enough? You listen to the sweet words and perceive they're actually being empathetic. Can a hug be warm enough? You're being held to show as if they'll never let you go. Can tearful eyes be enough to fall into? You'd always be their centre of attention and they'll never look away. Can the presence of anybody be enough? You’d be assured that their absence you'll never be tested with. Can rain or sunlight be an alternative for human existence? Just so when you'll be deprived, nature will be there to heal you!

The only way to get over the pain is to face it, embrace it, hug it and learn the lessons embedded within it.

But a back rub is a back rub, and a hug is a hug, and contact with someone you love and who loves you is healing.” - Page 12

Had life not given me reasons to grieve, I would never have known the healing power of a hug.

The best hug is when you don't know who is healing who.

We were willing to explore and be surprised. Willing to trust that there was beauty out there and love and joy. Ready to have our hearts touched and our souls hugged.

But I'm here to let you know That I'll love you like you deserve I'll treat you right And on a cold, cold night I'll shower you in hugs & kisses And soup

Dear Yesteryear, I do not feel alone anymore. I have found love. Maybe I should say love has found me. Well, to be fair, we found each other. Yesterday, I didn’t have a home. Yesterday, I didn’t have a pillow where I could lay my head. Yesterday, it was hard to find peace. Yesterday, I wondered if morning would ever come. Yesterday, I was unable to love, dream, and trust. Yesterday, I didn’t understand life. Yesterday, I was walking in my shadow. I didn’t know if I had meaning or a purpose. I am healing from my yesteryears. However, I am still rough around the edges and still have a lot to learn. I used to be so empty inside, but now I have lovely people to fill my no-longer-empty arms. Yesterday, my path was different. I was confused, not knowing if I should go right or left— move forward or turn around. I do not know what life has in store, but I know for a fact that I do not have to worry about the deadly and narrow path anymore. Yesterday, my sun was blocked by my shadows and everything thing else that came along that didn’t serve me. However, today, the sun is shining brighter than it ever has in my entire life. Yesterday, I will never forget you. You’ve taught me many lessons. I was taught lessons that a young person should never experience or even know about. Some lessons in life leave permitted marks. There have been many lessons I’ve learned that have left so many scars on my heart, but life goes on. I use to be overwhelmed by hate, disbelief, and not knowing if I was going to make it. Now, I am surrounded by warm hugs, smiles, love, and peace. Yesteryear, you will never be forgotten. I am healing, and it is a beautiful thing.

One hello can change a day. One hug can change a life. One hope can change a destiny.

Hugs are nourishment for the heart.

Sometimes a hug is all that you need.

I am grateful for Divine friends, healing energy, interconnectedness, firm hugs, soft kisses, moments of contentment, and growing wisdom.

I knew then that this hug had been the greatest teacher of my young life.

Anxiety asks you, dear reader, to embrace the gift of who you are. Maybe you’ve been told that you’re too much — too sensitive, too dramatic, too emotional, too analytical — and this message was translated inside your young self to mean that you were wrong or broken in some way. But you must begin to know now, as hopefully you will as you read through this book, that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. You’re not broken. You’re not too much. You’re not wrong. In fact, it’s the very qualities that you’ve been shamed for that you now need to wrap up like a hurt animal and hug close to your heart. For it’s when you stop seeing your sensitivity as a burden and instead recognize it as the gift it is that you will begin to heal the hurt places inside you and bring your full presence into the world.

I'll heal, like I'm sure you will. I won't fix you and you won't fix me. We’ll just hug each other like we used to do in the past.

A listening heart can take away stress. A loving and friendly hug can heal and bless.

In the case of a human, it could be a dad hugging and listening. The buffer is hugely important, not just to attenuate the stress hormones but also to prevent the kind of epigenetic changes that lead to a dysregulated stress response and the major health issues that come with it.

You know, when you were little and you got hurt or scared, I could make it all better with a hug or treat. But when your children get older, it becomes less and less easy to heal their wounds.

I'll heal, like I'm sure you will. I won't fix you and you won't fix me. We’ll just hug each other like we used to do in the past. If Samantha stirs any shit up, I'll kiss you in front of the world and shout that you're mine, their judgement be damned. The universe doesn't matter, Green, you do. Then. Now. Always.

JOY CHOSE YOU Joy does not arrive with a fanfare on a red carpet strewn with the flowers of a perfect life joy sneaks in as you pour a cup of coffee watching the sun hit your favourite tree just right and you usher joy away because you are not ready for her your house is not as it should be for such a distinguished guest but joy, you see cares nothing for your messy home or your bank balance or your waistline joy is supposed to slither through the cracks of your imperfect life that’s how joy works you cannot truly invite her you can only be ready when she appears and hug her with meaning because in this very moment joy chose you.

am not always curious, of course. When I perceive someone being rude to me, I do not get it together to practice this dance of attunement every day. Not even most times. But more and more, I am curious enough to ask the magic question: “What do you need?” These four words open doors and break down walls. With the benefit of understanding, we are no longer two separate beings floating through these threads alone. We are giving and receiving. Two reciprocal atoms hugging each other through the turmoil around us. I hurt you. You hurt me. You’re mine.

Trauma isn’t just the sadness that comes from being beaten, or neglected, or insulted. That’s just one layer of it. Trauma also is mourning the childhood you could have had. The childhood other kids around you had. The fact that you could have had a mom who hugged and kissed you when you skinned your knee. Or a dad who stayed and brought you a bouquet of flowers at your graduation. Trauma is mourning the fact that, as an adult, you have to parent yourself.

The revelation included: a fresh emphasis on God as the merciful and hospitable Father; who wins us by love rather than threats; who accepts and adores us while we’re still a mess; who sees us as we are and heals us with hugs rather than blows.

I don't even realize he's pulled me into his arms until I'm nestled against his chest and I don't fight it. I don't fight it at all. I cling to him because I need this warmth, I miss feeling strong arms around me and I'm only just beginning to realize how quickly I came to rely on the healing properties of an excellent hug. How desperately I've missed this. And he just holds me. He smooths back my hair, he runs a gentle hand down my back, and I hear his heart beat a strange, crazy beat that sounds far too fast to be human.

Remember, healing through forgiveness takes place in the soul and subconscious, not by a face to face confrontation that ends in hugging and tears of joy. In fact, chances are that would never happen anyway, so you are setting yourself up for failure if that is your expectation.

I hug my knowing soul and am awakened to the spirit within.

Virginia Satir has suggested that we need from four to twelve hugs a day as part of our health maintenance.

In the case of the rat pups, it’s the mom’s licking and grooming. In the case of a human, it could be a dad hugging and listening.

When fear becomes the norm, it stalks your life relentlessly, lurking and casting shadows over your daily routine. Fear changes you. Fear changes us. My parents worried about me, but they never had to deal with an every-present fear that violence could erupt at any moment and consume their child in an instant, affecting him or her in ways that no hug or loving assurance could heal.

What do I know? Of how your lips taste, And how your kisses heal, And how your hugs feel. What do I know of how it feels? To drown in your eyes, And to rest in your arms. I can but only imagine…

Do you think, little flower, that there will ever come a day when you regret meeting me?” he asked quietly. “Yes,” she said simply. “I see,” he said tightly. “Would you like a specific date?” “You are teasing me,” he realized suddenly. “No, I’m dead serious. I have an exact date in mind.” Jacob pulled back to see her eyes, looking utterly perplexed as her pupils sparkled with mischief. “What date is that? And why are you thinking of pink elephants?” “The date is September 8, because, according to Gideon, that’s possibly the day I will go into labor. I say ‘possibly,’ because combining all this human/Druid and Demon DNA ‘may make for a longer period of gestation than usual for a human,’ as the Ancient medic recently quoted. Now, as I understand it, women always regret ever letting a man touch them on that day.” Jacob lurched to his feet, dropping her onto her toes, grabbing her by the arms, and holding her still as he raked a wild, inspecting gaze over her body. “You are pregnant?” he demanded, shaking her a little. “How long have you known? You went into battle with that monster while you are carrying my child?” “Our child,” she corrected indignantly, her fists landing firmly on her hips, “and Gideon only just told me, like, five seconds ago, so I didn’t know I was pregnant when I was fighting that thing!” “But . . . he healed you just a few days ago! Why not tell you then?” “Because I wasn’t pregnant then, Jacob. If you recall, we did make love between then and now.” “Oh . . . oh Bella . . .” he said, his breath rushing from him all of a sudden. He looked as if he needed to sit down and put a paper bag over his head. She reached to steady him as he sat back awkwardly on the altar. He leaned his forearms on his thighs, bending over them as he tried to catch his breath. Bella had the strangest urge to giggle, but she bit her lower lip to repress to impulse. So much for the calm, cool, collected Enforcer who struck terror into the hearts of Demons everywhere. “That is not funny,” he grumbled indignantly. “Yeah? You should see what you look like from over here,” she teased. “If you laugh at me I swear I am going to take you over my knee.” “Promises, promises,” she laughed, hugging him with delight. Finally, Jacob laughed as well, his arm snaking out to circle her waist and draw her back into his lap. “Did you ask . . . I mean, does he know what it is?” “It’s a baby. I told him I didn’t want to know what it is. And don’t you dare find out, because you know the minute you do I’ll know, and if you spoil the surprise I’ll murder you.” “Damn . . . she kills a couple of Demons and suddenly thinks she can order all of us around,” he taunted, pulling her close until he was nuzzling her neck, wondering if it was possible for such an underused heart as his to contain so much happiness.

He held out his arms and I ran to embrace him. It wasn’t that I couldn’t feel my sorrows anymore, it was as if they were never there. I felt safe, and loved. There were no words exchanged, we just held each other.

Most people love with a guarded heart, only if certain things happen or don’t happen, only to a point. If the person we love hurts us, betrays us, abandons us, disappoints us, if the person becomes hard to love, we often stop loving. We protect our delicate hearts. We close off, retreat, withhold, disconnect, and withdraw. We might even hate. Most people love conditionally. Most people are never asked to love with a whole and open heart. They only love partway. They get by. Autism was my gift to you. My autism didn’t let me hug and kiss you, it didn’t allow me to look into your eyes, it didn’t let me say aloud the words you so desperately wanted to hear with your ears. But you loved me anyway. You’re thinking, Of course I did. Anyone would have. This isn’t true. Loving me with a full and accepting heart, loving all of me, required you to grow. Despite your heartache and disappointment, your fears and frustration and sorrow, despite all I couldn’t show you in return, you loved me. You loved me unconditionally. You haven’t experienced this kind of love with Dad or your parents or your sister or anyone else before. But now, you know what unconditional love is. I know my death has hurt you, and you’ve needed time alone to heal. You’re ready now. You’ll still miss me. I miss you, too. But you’re ready. Take what you’ve learned and love someone again. Find someone to love and love without condition. This is why we’re all here.

Unconditional love means loving myself on the days I find it hard to love myself. It means hugging your friend even when you don’t agree with them. It means meeting ourselves and others with compassion, kindness, and nonjudgment, and loving anyway.

I still remember the first day I met her. She was drunk with love and drenched in pain. The moment I hugged her I said myself, I shall heal her completely someday. But in the process of searching her, it was she who found me. And it was she who healed me.

A common mistake people make is assuming compassion requires some kind of action they’re not ready to take. In other words, if I feel compassion for this dangerous, havoc-wreaking person (or for my tedious co-workers, the guy who cut me off in traffic, my abusive parents, that politician, etc.) then I’ll have to drop everything I’m into and go hug and try to heal or help...or ...do something I don’t know how to do. Not so. Compassion begins within; the compassion you have for yourself will guide you to act or detach with regard for your own well-being.

The door opened, and it was like an apparition materializing before me, some sort of heavenly messenger descended from above. I’d never been away from her for this long, and after all this time, part of me wondered if I was imagining this. Her hand went to her mouth, and she stared at me wide-eyed. I think she felt the same way-and she hadn’t even had warning of my visit. She’d just been told I was coming “soon.” No doubt I seemed like a phantom to her, too. And with that reunion… it was like I was emerging from a cave-one I’d been in for almost five weeks-into the bright light of day. When Dimitri had turned, I’d felt like I’d lost part of my soul. When I’d left Lissa, another piece had gone. Now, seeing her… I began to think maybe my soul might be able to heal. Maybe I could go on after all. I didn’t feel 100 percent whole yet, but her presence filled up that missing part of me. I felt more like myself than I had in ages. A world of questions and confusion hung in the silence between us. In spite of everything we’d been through with Avery, there was still a lot of unresolved business from when I had first left the school. For the first time since I’d set foot on the Academy’s grounds, I felt afraid. Afraid that Lissa would reject me or scream at me for what I’d done. Instead, she drew me into a giant hug. “I knew it,” she said. She was already choking on her sobs. “I knew you’d come back.

don’t even realize he’s pulled me into his arms until I’m nestled against his chest and I don’t fight it. I don’t fight it at all. I cling to him because I need this warmth, I miss feeling strong arms around me and I’m only just beginning to realize how quickly I came to rely on the healing properties of an excellent hug.

Aisling tumbled out, his gold eyes going wild about the room to take in all of them. His beak clicked as he worked it in silence. Then, as the breaking of ice may bring a cascade of water from winter’s falls, the griffin’s voice—no longer that small shrill copy of Taryn’s, but his own true voice—poured plaintively from him. “Mom!” Taryn jerked around, her mouth dropping open. Aisling bounded toward her and she swept him up into a tight embrace. He clutched at her shoulders with his talons, burying his head under her chin, and cried, “Mom! Yoo…rrrrr…oh…kay!” “Great gods,” Antilles heard himself say and he shot Tonka a startled glance. “He cannot be speaking?!” The horseman merely smiled. “And why not?” he murmured, resettling himself on his padded bolster. “For has he not been a miracle from the very first?” “You’re talking,” Taryn cried, true delight painting itself over the grief that had seemed to mask her since the dawning of this terrible day. She was radiant once more, burning with a joy and a healing light all its own as she hugged her griffin close. “Oh, my fierce prince! My big boy!” “Yoo…rrrr…Ai-sing,” whispered the griffin. His raptor’s eyes flicked to Antilles and his naked wings fluttered. “Tilly. Yoo…rrrr…sun-shy?” Taryn giggled, her face pressed to fur. “Aye, lad,” Antilles said, tossing his broken horn. “My sun and my moon and all my starry skies.

I wish we could start over. I wish we were meeting for the first time. Clean slate.’ Haley considers this. It’s such a little-kid term. ‘Do-over!’ they’d shriek on the four-square court. The kickball field. Back when there was no mistake you couldn’t fix, no hurt you couldn’t heal with Band-Aids, hugs, and snacks. She’d love a do-over as well.

I never knew what Mother knowed, Like how a thread and needle sewed, And how a kiss healed boo-boos fast. Why family knots were made to last. I never knew how Mother saw A caring man in angry pa, A smile beneath the teary gloom, A game inside a messy room. I never knowed what Mother knew, Like how to smile when days were blue, And how to laugh for laughter’s sake, While giving up her slice of cake. I never saw what Mother see’d Like honor pulling garden weeds, Or deep confessions in a look, And hope alive in storybooks. I never knew how Mother knowed To hand out carrots when it snowed, And why hot cocoa liked the rain, While naptime kept a person sane. For mother knowed and see’d it all. A winner in a strike-out ball. A 'yes, please' in a shoulder shrug. A 'love you mostest' in a hug. Perhaps, someday, I’ll come to know What Mother saw and knowed as so. Like how 'I’m right' can be all wrong, And why the night requires a song. But of the things I learned and knew I never doubted one thing true. My mother made it crystal clear, she knowed and loved me ever dear.

I know it’s hard to see,” he said, “but God shows me his work in you every time we meet. I see your faith growing inside you like a beautiful spring bud, just ready to blossom. Whatever you think you’re facing, the obstacles you’s struggling to overcome, they’s like rain feeding that bud inside you. Don’t fear the storm. He’s in the storm, just like he’s in the gentle breeze. He gots you right where he wants you.” I hugged

Spider?” I’d said, with a question mark in my voice. “Yeah.” “You know at school . . . what did you do that for? Wade in like that?” Spider frowned. “He was disrespectful, Jem. What you said—I could tell it was real. It was what you were really feeling. He had no right to make a joke of it.” “Yeah, I know, he’s a tosser, but it’s nothing to do with you. You made a right show of yourself. You made a show of me.” “I didn’t want him to get away with it.” “Yeah, but I don’t need a knight in shining armor. I can look after myself.” He was smiling a bit now. I paused. “It’s not funny, man. It’s made everything worse,” I said quietly. “I’ve got comments all the time now, ‘bout you and me. Sly comments.” He looked away, studied his hands. The knuckles on the right one were nearly healed up now. My mouth had gone dry, but I had to get this clear with him. “You do know there’s no ‘you and me,’ don’t you, Spider?” He looked up. “What?” “We’re not like . . . together. Just mates.” There was something about his sullenness when he said, “Yeah, ‘course. Just mates. Mates is good,” that made me think he felt the exact opposite. I was churning inside, cursing that day under the bridge. People were so bloody difficult. Why had I ever got involved? He stood up, came toward me, putting an arm out. I thought, Shit, he’s going to hug me. Hasn’t he listened to anything? But his hand formed a fist, and he lightly punched my arm. “Listen, man, I know what you’re like. I’ve told you I’ll never say nothing nice to you. And now you’ve put my straight, I’ll never do nothing nice for you, either. OK? If someone disrespects you, I’ll let them. If you’re being mugged on the street, I’ll walk on by. If I see you on fire, I won’t even piss on you. OK?

Until now, I haven’t had the best luck with Siddhartha. But every day before today, I was jealous of his girlfriends. I wondered if he would ever think of the girl who found him on the internet and wrote a book about it. Every day before today, I used to look at the bittersweet letters that he never read. And today, when I look back at that time, it feels nice. The guy who was just a daydream. Today he hugged me, and I have a Polaroid of us. It might be his worst, but it’s my storybook New Year’s Eve. — Arya Kashyap

If it works, you could have a cheesy, lovey outcome where you both reconnect with each other and you are hugging her at the end,” Dr. Ham said. “Or, you could state your needs to her, and she could not respond in the way you want. And you could stay mad at her and disappointed in her and be okay with it. Because you’re recognizing why she acts the way she does. And you’re forgiving yourself for reacting to her, and acknowledging, ‘I need more than that from her.’ ” “I’m reconnecting with myself,” I said slowly. “That counts, too?

But that is not the only effect of folding. The real benefit is that you must handle each piece of clothing. As you run your hands over the cloth, you pour your energy into it. The Japanese word for healing is te-ate, which literally means “to apply hands.” The term originated prior to the development of modern medicine when people believed that placing one’s hand on an injury promoted healing. We know that gentle physical contact from a parent, such as holding hands, patting a child on the head, and hugging, has a calming effect on children.

Beth’s Story Beth’s mother, Rosa, never showed any enthusiasm about spending time with her. When Beth visited, Rosa resisted hugs and immediately found something to criticize about Beth’s appearance. She usually urged Beth to call a relative as soon as Beth walked in the door, as though to redirect her elsewhere. If Beth suggested spending time together, Rosa acted irritated and told Beth she was too dependent on her. When Beth telephoned her mother, anything Beth said was usually cut short as Rosa quickly found an excuse to get off the phone, often giving the phone to Beth’s father.

We can let our animals know that they are going on a trip, to a place with no struggle and no suffering. We can tell them how much we will miss them and what a special place they will always have in our hearts. We can hug them and hold them. Through what we say and how we say it, we can express our love for them rather than our need for them, giving them permission to depart on their own timetable rather than insisting that they remain here for our sake. From our tone of voice, they may sense that a major change is in the offing, but they may also understand that we will remain with them to the end and that there is ultimately nothing to fear.

Secure attachment reflects the deep emotional bond that forms in the first months of life between an infant and the primary caregiver when the child feels consistently loved and cared for. The caregiver conveys in many ways that the child is safe, protected, and valued: by holding, skin-to-skin touching, kissing, and hugging; by loving gazes and facial expressions; by safe, rhythmic gestures and vocal sounds; by timely attention to the infant’s needs; and by smiling, laughing, and having fun with the child. Through repeated encounters that are sensitive to the child’s needs, the child learns that the caregiver is available and responsive, and will not abandon her.

Jacques appeared on his hands and knees, peering around the corner of the cabin. His dark eyes lit with pleasure when he saw her. The baby flashed Antonia his wide grin and scooted toward her. Only in the last two days had he gone from pushing himself across the floor to a hands-and-knees crawl. Henri trailed so close behind Jacques that he had to walk wide-legged so he didn’t step on his brother. The baby reached her, placed his hands on her legs, and pressed himself up, grabbing at the front of her tunic. “Maa.” Antonia hugged Jacques. He’d soiled his rabbit skin diaper and smelled, but she held him close, needing to feel the baby in her arms. He wiggled in protest. She dropped a kiss on his forehead and reached up to her shoulder to unlace the leather ties of her tunic, pulling the flap down to free her breast. He began to suckle greedily. Henri dropped to her other side and leaned against her. Antonia put her arm around him. Just holding her sons brought her comfort but also increased her despair. What do I be doin’ now? Should I be takin’ the boys and leave? Head for Sweetwater Springs? Antonia shook her head. No! I won’t be leavin’ Jean-Claude. Cain’t leave my home. But without her husband to provide for them, she didn’t know how long she’d be able to manage on her own. Somehow, I’ll be findin’ a way, Antonia vowed.

Tatia…Tatiasha,” he said huskily, taking her hands and kissing them, kissing her wrists and the insides of her forearms. “Yes?” she said, just as huskily. “We’re alone together.” “I know,” she replied, suppressing a moan. “We have privacy.” “Hmm.” “Privacy, Tania!” Alexander said intensely. “For the first time in our life you and I have real privacy. We had it yesterday. And we have it today.” She couldn’t take the emotion in his crème brûlée eyes. She lowered her gaze. “Look at me.” “I can’t,” she whispered. Alexander cupped her small face in his massive hands. “Are you…scared?” “Terrified.” “No. Please, don’t be scared of me.” He kissed her deeply on the lips, so deeply, so fully, so lovingly, that Tatiana felt the aching pit inside her open up and flare upward. She tottered, physically unable to continue sitting upright. “Tatiasha,” he said, “why are you so beautiful? Why?” “I’m a rag,” she said. “Look at you.” He hugged her. “God, what a blessing.” Pulling away, Alexander took her hands. “Tania, you are my miracle, you know that, don’t you? You are the one God sent me to give me faith.” He paused. “He sent you to redeem me, to comfort me, and to heal me—and that’s just so far,” he added with a smile. “I’m barely able to hold myself together right now, I want to make love to you so much…” Here he stopped. “I know you’re afraid. I will never hurt you. Will you come into my tent with me?” “Yes,” Tatiana said, softly but audibly.

it also comes with sadness. Because expressing the kindness to yourself that you deserve often reminds you of the kindness you didn’t get. Trauma isn’t just the sadness that comes from being beaten, or neglected, or insulted. That’s just one layer of it. Trauma also is mourning the childhood you could have had. The childhood other kids around you had. The fact that you could have had a mom who hugged and kissed you when you skinned your knee. Or a dad who stayed and brought you a bouquet of flowers at your graduation. Trauma is mourning the fact that, as an adult, you have to parent yourself. You have to stand in your kitchen, starving, near tears, next to a burnt chicken, and you can’t call your mom to tell her about it,

For me, grief is alive. She’s a cold, unforgiving bitch who lurks in the shadows. When I’m tired or stressed, she’s always ready to pounce, to make me feel weak and incapable. Sometimes she frightens me with how big she is, but with help, I’m learning to beat her back, and now when she attacks, she’s a little smaller than the last time. Healing is a choice. I made the decision to heal. It wasn’t easy or pleasant or anything I wanted to do but the alternative was to continue to live in pain and I just couldn’t do that anymore. The pain sucks me dry and I was at risk of shriveling up and blowing away. So every morning I decide to be a little bit better. Sure, there are days I screw up completely, but then I start again. I initiated a hug with a friend. No big deal for most people, but for me it was an act of courage. Tiny steps add up. At least that’s the plan.

But the best reward from that meditation center was a familiar face I could access every time I sat down to meditate. For a couple of minutes, I basked in the sun and breathed, and then I summoned an older version of myself, a year into the future. I imagined she was sitting behind me, enveloping me in a big-spoon hug. She had a few more wrinkles. A couple more freckles. She was wearing baggy, soft clothing. 'Hi,' I said. 'Hi,' she said. 'I’m sad today,' I admitted. 'It’s okay to be sad. You won’t be sad a week from now. I love you, and you are doing your best,' she said, and I knew she was right. I leaned back into her belly. I could almost feel it pushing back against me, a solid pressure, telling me I was not alone. She silenced my mother’s voice in my head. Excised her not just in body but in mind. She did it because, as my third parent, that is her right.

A Woman’s Only Flaw Author Unknown “When God created Woman, he was working late on the sixth day. An Angel came by and asked, ‘Why spend so much time on her?’ The Lord answered, ‘Have you seen all the specifications I have to meet to shape her?’”  “‘She must function in all kinds of situations.  She must be able to embrace several kids at the same time, have a hug that can heal anything from a bruised knee to a broken heart.  She must do all this with only two hands. She cures herself when sick and can work 18 hours a day.’”   “The Angel was impressed. ‘Just two hands? Impossible!  And this is the standard model?’  The Angel came closer and touched the woman.  ‘But you have made her so soft, Lord.’ ‘She is soft,’ said the Lord, ‘but I have made her strong.  You can’t imagine what she can endure and overcome.’” “‘Can she think?’ the Angel asked. The Lord answered, ‘Not only can she think, she can reason and negotiate.’  The Angel touched her cheeks.  ‘Lord, it seems this creation is leaking!  You have put too many burdens on her.’  ‘She is not leaking.  It is a tear,’ the Lord corrected the Angel.  ‘What’s it for?’ asked the Angel. The Lord said, ‘Tears are her way of expressing her grief, her doubts, her love, her loneliness, her suffering, and her pride.’” “This made a big impression on the Angel.  ‘Lord, you are a genius.  You thought of everything.  A woman is indeed marvelous.’  The Lord said, ‘Indeed she is.  She has strength that amazes a man.  She can handle trouble and carry heavy burdens.  She holds happiness, love, and opinions.  ‘She smiles when she feels like screaming.  She sings when she feels like crying, cries when happy and laughs when afraid.  She fights for what she believes in. ‘Her love is unconditional.  Her heart is broken when a next-of-kin or a friend dies, but she finds strength to get on with life.  “The Angel asked, ‘So she is a perfect being?’ The Lord replied, ‘No. She has just one drawback.’ ‘She often forgets what she is worth.

One of the great sayings in meditation is that we are perfect, but we need a slight adjustment. That slight adjustment comes down to having confidence in our basic goodness. In the windhorse contemplation, we contemplate our basic goodness. When all the plans, worrying, and speed dissolve, when we are just sitting there feeling a deep sense of space and well-being, we are resting in the indescribable feeling of basic goodness. It is “basic” in that this is fundamentally who we are. It is “good” in that we are complete, intact, and whole. An amazing thing about being human is that we can connect with that long-forgotten goodness that we have. It is very powerful to feel that sense of goodness: having confidence and bravery in our innermost being. Even a few moments of sitting and feeling it is healing. After feeling it in ourselves, we begin to see it in everyone and everything. We can see it in a small child. We can see it in an old person. We can see it in a beautiful mountain. We can feel it when we hug someone.

He was smiling! That was it; her actual sunrise. It lit the candles of answers to every query of her life. . Having wings is one thing and flying another. Having eyes is one thing and dreaming another. Having a heart is one thing and falling in love, quite another. . Destiny is the root of all limitations and a dream is the seed for all liberations. . By the way, is it darkness that gives light an identity or is it the other way round? . If life is divided into two parts, then one part is definitely about living it and the other, about missing the moments lived. . How can I comfort anyone with words of hope when I am myself empty of it? . It might all sound bizarre to you because I am sharing my thoughts for her only today but believe me something happened from the first time I saw her. Something did happen. The air (or what was it?) told me she was mine though I was a little apprehensive to accept the fact then but now, I think I am in love. No, I know I am in love for the first time in my life. (Ritwika was just a crush). It’s crazy, I know. It’s only been few weeks that I first saw her. I haven’t even talked to her till now. But does that really matter? . What the fuck is it with first love? So many ifs and buts. Damn! . Seriously I do have something to tell God: It’s tough to be God, I know, but mind you it’s tougher to be human in this crazy fucking world of yours. . No one asked me or forced me not to hug happiness but I consciously chose to sleep with pain. . I am not happy so I can’t stand anyone who is. . But I am helpless…you are helpless…we are helpless…the world is helpless and even help is helpless. . It’s not about reaching the edge, it’s about the jump. A jump for onetime-the fall of a lifetime. . It was eight years ago but time doesn't heal all wounds. . Isn't it better to lie and encourage a significant construction than to speak the truth and witness destruction? . From today onwards Radhika is not only a part of my life but also a part of my heart, my mind, my soul, my will, my zeal, my happiness, my tears, my depression, my excitement, my interests, my decisions, my character and my identity. . The times that go away at the blink of an eye are actually the times which eventually get placed inside the safe of our most treasured memories. . Life is no movie where we need to necessarily get all things right by the end. . She is too sexy to forget.

Eve is a different sort of girl. She tries to make herself fit. She works tirelessly, exhaustingly at it. There certainly is a safety to the prescribed, neat little boxes. But the snake touches an ache that finds healing in every hiss. And when Eve sits at the roots of the tree, they wrapped around her like a mother's hug, welcoming her home, too. She breathes in the mossy bark, the flowers that grow around it, finds comfort in the way the wind whistles through its dancing leaves. In reply she murmurs, not a prayer, but a portrait of the seeds she hides in the depths of her soul. And the tree at the heart of the walled garden called Paradise listens. Sometimes, she thinks, I am not the name he's given me and therefore maybe neither is the grass or that animal in the distance or even the sky. Words become their own walls of sort, especially when everything is made to fit his definition. Eve swears she can feel a rumble from deep within the bark, a bumble bee's hum. If you wish to own something, you give it a name, comes the answer. If you wish to know something, you listen to what it tells you. Yes, the snake hisses. - excerpt from “Her True Name: A Story from the Grandmother Tree” – featured in Asherah: Roots of the Mother Tree.

Daring to approach the brothers’ tension-filled embrace, Livia touched one of Beckett’s coiled arms. “Beckett.” She waited until his furious face turned toward her mouth. “I still need you. Here. I can’t wait for him without you. You promised. I’m not man enough. Remember?” Livia held her breath. “You’ve got your sister,” he said quietly. “Let go of him, Cole. Please.” Livia nodded at the puzzle of arms, each with its own agenda. Cole looked reluctant as he stepped away, keeping his body between Beckett and Chris. “It has to be all of us. Don’t ask me how I know, but I do. We all have to sit here and hope for the best. Pray for the best. Even with that pile of shit right there.” Livia didn’t have to point; they could all feel pulsating of the evil that was lodged in Chris. “We have to think about Blake—getting fixed, getting healed, getting back to us. Adding murder to tonight is wrong. It’s all wrong. You have to make a different choice. I trust you, Beckett. You can do this.” Livia’s earnest words seemed to make Beckett want to curse. His face boiled red for a moment. Only Beckett could hear Livia’s gentle breath that pleaded, “Please.” Rather than leaping to action, he rubbed his forehead and took in great gasps of air. Finally, he grabbed her head in a giant hug. “For you, Whitebread. Only for fucking you.

John Bradshaw, in his best-seller Homecoming: Reclaiming and Championing Your Inner Child, details several of his imaginative techniques: asking forgiveness of your inner child, divorcing your parent and finding a new one, like Jesus, stroking your inner child, writing your childhood history. These techniques go by the name catharsis, that is, emotional engagement in past trauma-laden events. Catharsis is magnificent to experience and impressive to behold. Weeping, raging at parents long dead, hugging the wounded little boy who was once you, are all stirring. You have to be made of stone not to be moved to tears. For hours afterward, you may feel cleansed and at peace—perhaps for the first time in years. Awakening, beginning again, and new departures all beckon. Catharsis, as a therapeutic technique, has been around for more than a hundred years. It used to be a mainstay of psychoanalytic treatment, but no longer. Its main appeal is its afterglow. Its main drawback is that there is no evidence that it works. When you measure how much people like doing it, you hear high praise. When you measure whether anything changes, catharsis fares badly. Done well, it brings about short-term relief—like the afterglow of vigorous exercise. But once the glow dissipates, as it does in a few days, the real problems are still there: an alcoholic spouse, a hateful job, early-morning blues, panic attacks, a cocaine habit. There is no documentation that the catharsis techniques of the recovery movement help in any lasting way with chronic emotional problems. There is no evidence that they alter adult personality. And, strangely, catharsis about fictitious memories does about as well as catharsis about real memories. The inner-child advocates, having treated tens of thousands of suffering adults for years, have not seen fit to do any follow-ups. Because catharsis techniques are so superficially appealing, because they are so dependent on the charisma of the therapist, and because they have no known lasting value, my advice is “Let the buyer beware.

Some days the world feels too hard and heavy, too much violence, too much pain, too much, too much, too much, and no way to make any of it make sense. Some days the people we love the most are enduring deep horror and loss and fear and trauma and pain and there's not a damn thing we can do, not really - and we're left sitting with some crazy helplessness and anger and grief without anywhere that feels big enough to hold it all. Some days you don't know if you want to scream the rage or cry the grief or run to the ocean or collapse in a puddle on the floor or sink into a too-hot bath or go back to bed or lose your mind for a little while, because holding it together takes more than you've got. Some days you feel like you'd do just about anything to have someone show up at your door for no other reason but to deliver an endless hug because reactivated trauma is a bitch, even when it's not your own, and because we all need more hugs, even on the good days—and some days are as far as hell from good as you can imagine. Some days you buy yourself the pale pink roses because you need a reminder of beauty, and you make yourself cup after cup of tea and finally let yourself cry, hard. You take the invite to go out to dinner and laugh and forget for a while. You pay attention, with deep gratitude, to the spaces that feel safe enough to open fully into, and to the people that show up to fill those spaces. You do what you can even though it feels like way too little and not near enough and not anything really in the grand scheme of things, and you say a prayer of thanks for the people give without knowing even why they are giving and a blessing for the grace of connections that are strong enough for that. Whatever you're doing right now, send a wave of love out into the universe. The biggest and brightest one you've got. Send protection, and healing, and fire, and light, and love and love and love and love. I can't tell you where you're sending it, but I know there's enough hurt and hard in the world right now, that whatever direction it goes and wherever it lands, it will rest with someone who needs it.

Your womb can’t never bear fruit.” Miss Ethel Fordham told her that. Without sorrow or alarm, she had passed along the news as though she’d examined a Burpee seedling overcome by marauding rabbits. Cee didn’t know then what to feel about that news, no more than what she felt about Dr. Beau. Anger wasn’t available to her—she had been so stupid, so eager to please. As usual she blamed being dumb on her lack of schooling, but that excuse fell apart the second she thought about the skilled women who had cared for her, healed her. Some of them had to have Bible verses read to them because they could not decipher print themselves, so they had sharpened the skills of the illiterate: perfect memory, photographic minds, keen senses of smell and hearing. And they knew how to repair what an educated bandit doctor had plundered. If not schooling, then what? Branded early as an unlovable, barely tolerated “gutter child” by Lenore, the only one whose opinion mattered to her parents, exactly like what Miss Ethel said, she had agreed with the label and believed herself worthless. Ida never said, “You my child. I dote on you. You wasn’t born in no gutter. You born into my arms. Come on over here and let me give you a hug.” If not her mother, somebody somewhere should have said those words and meant them. Frank alone valued her. While his devotion shielded her, it did not strengthen her. Should it have? Why was that his job and not her own? Cee didn’t know any soft, silly women. Not Thelma, or Sarah, or Ida, and certainly not the women who had healed her. Even Mrs. K., who let the boys play nasty with her, did hair and slapped anybody who messed with her, in or outside her hairdressing kitchen. So it was just herself. In this world with these people she wanted to be the person who would never again need rescue. Not from Lenore through the lies of the Rat, not from Dr. Beau through the courage of Sarah and her brother. Sun-smacked or not, she wanted to be the one who rescued her own self. Did she have a mind, or not? Wishing would not make it so, nor would blame, but thinking might. If she did not respect herself, why should anybody else? Okay. She would never have children to care about and give her the status of motherhood. Okay. She didn’t have and probably would never have a mate. Why should that matter? Love? Please. Protection? Yeah, sure. Golden eggs? Don’t make me laugh. Okay. She was penniless. But not for long. She would have to invent a way to earn a living. What else?

As we made it across the field, my heart jolted with relief as I spotted Tory kneeling over Darius. My relief was quickly swallowed by fear as I saw the blood pooling out around the Fire Heir from multiple wounds. “Heal him!” Tory begged as she spotted us. Her eyes raked over me as Orion put me down and her shoulders sagged a little as she realised I was okay before her gaze fell back on Darius beneath her. Tears had tracked lines down her cheeks and her hands were stained red with his blood as she fought to help him. My lips parted in surprise as I noted the fear in her gaze, wondering what could have happened in that fight to make her look at Darius that way. Orion fell down beside him, looking distressed and I hurriedly knelt down too. He pressed his fingers to a bloody wound on Darius's side and it slowly began to heal. “He's survived worse,” he growled bitterly as Darius groaned, coming to. I sagged forward, beginning to tremble as exhaustion took hold of me. Orion nudged Tory’s hands away from the wound on Darius’s chest so that he could heal it next and she shifted forward, pressing her bloodstained palm to his cheek instead. Orion’s jaw tensed and I noted the pale colour to his skin as he threw his magic into healing his friend. His gaze slid to me imploringly. “I need more power to-” “Take mine,” Tory said, offering him her free hand without looking away from Darius for a moment. Orion snatched her hand without a moment’s hesitation, the green glow in his palm gaining intensity instantly. Darius coughed, his eyes flickering a few times before snapping open. His gaze fell on Tory as she continued to look down at him. Her hand was still pressed to his cheek and he frowned slightly. “You...” he began but he didn’t finish what he’d been going to say. His hand moved over hers for a moment, holding it in place against his cheek as he held her eye. I shifted uncomfortably beside them, feeling like I was laying witness to something private. “Good as new,” Orion muttered, releasing Tory and Darius in the same movement. Tory blinked, snatching her hand away from Darius’s face before scrambling off of him and getting to her feet. She turned her back on him, moving to my side and pulling me into a hug. (darcy)

Setting the water bottle down, I turned my hands over to look at the angry scars and then up at Lainey. “These will heal. I will dance. I will fly. But I can’t lose you. I don’t even dare risk you. At the same time, I’m selfish because I’m glad you’re here.” Closing her eyes, Lainey dragged me in for a hug. “I could throttle you,” she said in a voice misty with unshed tears. “I love you.” “I love you, too,” I whispered, clinging to her. “You have saved me so many times.” “Not enough,” she complained and I chuckled. “More than you know.

But more and more, I am curious enough to ask the magic question: “What do you need?” These four words open doors and break down walls. With the benefit of understanding, we are no longer two separate beings floating through these threads alone. We are giving and receiving. Two reciprocal atoms hugging each other through the turmoil around us. I hurt you. You hurt me. You’re mine.

It used to be easy. We would fight about the dumbest things—who got to be which monster truck when we were playing in my bedroom in the first grade, why he got me out in dodgeball, who was faster at the mile. A quick and simple sorry had always fixed it, sometimes with an awkward shoulder pat-hug if it was really bad. But I don’t know how to fix the real things.

Each one of us hugged her with all our might. The strength of her arms healed me on the spot. When she saw the fear in our faces transform from fright to calm, she released us, one by one.

Compassion is important. Spiritual Guru and the Hugging Saint of India revered, as Amma states, "To have mercy is the first step in spiritual life." Having success and material wealth and being compassionate with the world around us is Okay. We are living in an age where more and more people understand that we are not aloof from those who are struggling or living in poverty. Nor are we isolated from those who get mad from time to time, and are mean to us. We all have a human heart with real feelings, bonds rich and sometimes enmeshed, epic mistakes and glorious victories. The more we can cultivate appreciation for our fellow man and woman, the better the ability to treat each other with dignity. If we love each other, we listen and even if our opinions are different, we will learn how to live in harmony.

Wondrous..." was the last thing Captain Tregsburg ever said. When Rapunzel wearily opened her eyes, there was a magnificent white horse where the captain had been. There was dried blood on its pure white flanks, what looked like an old, healed wound on its belly-- and an ecstatic look in its eye. It rose onto its feet, trumpeting out a whinny of triumph, kicking its front legs and tossing its mane back and forth. "Oh," Rapunzel said, dismayed. "I didn't-- I'm sorry--" But Justin "Maximus" Tregsburg, captain of the royal guard and now shining white stallion, gently nuzzled her cheek. He was... happy. "I'm glad you're all right," Rapunzel said, hugging him. "I'm sorry we never got to talk." The stallion rolled his eyes and tossed his head: What's the use of talk, he seemed to say.

The moment his hands massaged, I cracked again. Wracking sobs exploded from my chest and I doubled over with pain. Not from the rape, or Q’s anger, but because of his touch. No one touched me so tenderly. Never had my parents cuddled or offered comfort in their arms. I grew up never knowing how to hug or kiss or love. Brax came along, and with his sweetness, helped heal me. Even with his tender heartedness, he never just held me—never saw the real me or washed or tended. It had taken being kidnapped, and sold to a man who didn’t want me, to show how much my existence lacked. Q shattered my walls with his uncouth ways. How could I ever go back to a life where my senses lived in limbo? Where no one cared enough to kill for me? Q stopped washing my hair, gathering me tighter to him. I crushed against his wet, suited chest, inhaling his unique scent. He let me cry and didn’t reprimand or control. He offered comfort in silence. Lips pressed my forehead, whispering, “Je suis ici,” over and over. I’m here. I’m here.

GUIDED SHADOW WORK MEDITATION Find a quiet place where you can relax and either sit or lie down in a comfortable position. When you are ready, begin to breathe in and out, slowly and deeply. Continue to do this until you feel totally and completely relaxed. Now, imagine you’re in a peaceful field. Maybe you are surrounded by tall grasses or by thousands of lilies. Whatever your field looks like, it brings you a sense of great peace and relaxation. As you relax in your field, a figure approaches you. Take note of the figure's appearance. Is it a shadowy figure? Is it an animal? Does it look fearsome and angry? Or sad and emotional? This is your Shadow, and it wishes to talk to you. It slowly approaches and sits down next to you. Now, imagine that your Shadow begins conversing with you. What is it saying? Does it feel abandoned? Is it angry? Is it jealous and critical? Listen carefully to everything it says. Take note of any memories or pain you feel as it speaks. Is there a certain person or memory that you are thinking about? Do you feel tension in a certain part of your body as your Shadow speaks? Note everything you are feeling and experiencing. If you feel any tension, continue to breathe deeply and slowly to return to the state of relaxation. When calm again, show compassion and warmth to your Shadow as it speaks to you. Your Shadow wants to be heard and has been through many challenges and trials. It needs your love and acceptance. Give it that by responding compassionately. Once your conversation is over, hug your Shadow and tell it how much you love and appreciate it. You can also invite it to another session if you like, and repeat this meditation. Make sure it feels welcome to converse with you again. Notice the lightness you feel by doing this. When you’re finished and ready, slowly open your eyes.

As I look out onto my community, all in one place for the first time in my life, I think, Man. These are good goddamn people. Each one represents countless acts of love and kindness, late-night calls and baked goods, cold beers and warm hugs. Behind all of these smiles is a lifetime of joy. The void is, for once, full. It is overflowing.

There is more to life than the person who walked away from you. There is more to life than chasing after someone who does not want to be in yours. Trust me when I say—there is more to life. There is laughing until your stomach aches more than your healing. There is going out with friends and kissing their faces and talking to them about atoms and the universe and the fact that you are so damn lucky to be living at the same time as them, that you are so damn thankful you got to experience life with them by your side. They’ll scoop you into their arms and they will hug you so tight that it will feel as if all of your broken pieces have finally come together again.

We need not wonder. It looks like a Middle Eastern carpenter restoring men’s and women’s dignity and humanity and health and conscience through healings and exorcisms and teaching and hugging and forgiving.

However, the most natural way that we humans calm down our distress is by being touched, hugged, and rocked. This helps with excessive arousal and makes us feel intact, safe, protected, and in charge.

many people in our society, including children and youth, are touch-starved. Healthy touch is not well understood. We actually have schools where tiny toddlers whose impulse is to run up and hug a classmate or teacher are told not to touch; in return, the teachers and other caregivers are not allowed to touch the children. But it’s simply unhealthy for a three-or four-year-old child to go eight hours without touching or hugging or playfully wrestling with another person.

In demonstrating the power of God through human touch, Jesus was not just healing a body; he was restoring community. This is what healthy touch does. This is why “virtual church” experiences will always be a poor substitute for physically gathering as the people of God. As we pass on peace to each other through handshakes, hugs, and kisses, we find something of our humanity touched and renewed. The practice of touch can be developed simply by showing up to church.

I pray that you find healing where you need it and offer your children the opportunity to heal if they need it. I pray that you surrender to love and experience it fully so that you can offer it to others. There's a saying that "you only live once," but that's not true. You live every day, and you only die once. Use this one life to thrive, love, hug, cry, laugh, and be free. I wish you all a life well loved. Romal Tune

Six months later, though I still loathed the man, I changed my approach to the task list. I got up after the first wake-up call without delay. There would be no more early-morning baptisms for me. Instead, I focused on the details Sgt. Jack always noticed and finished each job right the first time. That was the only way I’d get any free time to play basketball. However, my new approach produced an unexpected side effect as well: a sense of pride in a job well done. In fact, that sense of pride came to mean more to me than basketball time. When I washed his car collection, a weekly assignment, I knew every drop of water had to be wiped away with a chamois before the first coat of wax. I used SOS pads to get the white walls gleaming and buffed the hell out of every panel. I also used Armor All on the dashboards and all the vinyl insides. I buffed the leather seats too. It bothered me if I saw streaks on the glass or chrome. I was annoyed if I missed a soiled spot or cut a corner here or there on any chore. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was a sign that I was actually healing. When a half-assed job doesn’t bother you, it speaks volumes about the kind of person you are. And until you start feeling a sense of pride and self-respect in the work you do, no matter how small or overlooked those jobs might be, you will continue to half-ass your life. I knew I had every reason in the world to rebel and remain a lazy motherfucker. I also sensed that would only make me more miserable, so I adapted. But no matter how well I did or how fast I completed a given task, there were no atta’ boys or weekly allowance. No ice cream cones or surprise gifts, hugs, or high fives. In Sgt. Jack’s mind, I was finally doing what I should have been doing all along.

Lend me your hope for a while, I seem to have mislaid mine. Lost and hopeless feelings accompany me daily, pain and confusion are my companions. I know not where to turn; looking ahead to future times does not bring forth images of renewed hope. I see troubled times, pain-filled days, and more tragedy. Lend me your hope for a while, I seem to have mislaid mine. Hold my hand and hug me; listen to all my ramblings, recovery seems so far distant. The road to healing seems like a long and lonely one. Lend me your hope for a while, I seem to have mislaid mine. Stand by me, offer me your presence, your heart and your love. Acknowledge my pain, it is so real and ever present. I am overwhelmed with sad and conflicting thoughts. Lend me your hope for a while; a time will come when I will heal, and I will share my renewal, hope and love with others.2

Soothing, healing, intentional—because Lucas hugged like he meant it.

And you said I could trust you,” Mencheres interrupted softly. “So I am trusting you, Kira, and letting you go despite your knowledge.” She had no idea how difficult this was for him. When Kira offered herself willingly in exchange for healing her sister, Mencheres had almost seized on it. The chance to see her each day, learn more about her—and seduce her to his bed—had filled him with a primal, hungry purpose. He wanted to show Kira things she hadn’t even imagined, take her to places she’d only heard of, and lavish on her extravagances that would shame a queen. It made no sense; he barely knew Kira, yet something in her called to him in a way that almost overpowered him. The last time he’d felt this strongly about a woman, kingdoms had fallen in his wake. But the darkness of the underworld loomed before him, mocking him that his time was almost over. Kira had a future. He didn’t. He had to free her, both to let her live out her life and to let him finish what was left of his. She came toward him with that strong, fighter’s stride that was at odds with her feminine slenderness and grabbed him in a fierce hug. “Thank you,” she whispered. This time, she kissed his throat, not his hand, and the brush of her soft, warm lips there almost broke his control. He had to leave. Now.

A glass of water can save a life A hug can heal a whole body A conversation can bond trust A few kind words can create someone great in the future

Simone Simmons Simone Simmons works as an energy healer, helping her patients through empowering them rather than creating a dependency on the healer. She specializes in absent healing, mainly with sufferers of cancer and AIDS. She met Diana four years before her death when the Princess came to her for healing, and they became close friends. In 2005, Simone wrote a book titled Diana: The Last Word. Diana was exuberant about everything she did, and that extended to her friendships. She didn’t so much walk into a room as explode, scattering smiles and jokes and good humor in a way that embraced everyone. When she saw someone she knew, her face would light up, her arms would fly out in welcome, and more often than not she would wrap them in a warm hug, while new acquaintances were made to feel like old friends. Very few are blessed with that kind of star quality, and we were all captivated by her charisms. It was almost as if she was skipping on air, and even those who had been critical of her in the past came away enchanted after spending only a short time with her. Whenever we met, she always made me feel as if she was truly grateful for my time and exuded interest in everything I was doing. Most of us try and hide our insecurities behind a mask. Diana never bothered with that sort of psychological subterfuge. She was refreshingly open and interested in everyone around her in an unaffected and outgoing way that shone through in her photographs, which I am sure is why she enjoyed such enormous popularity.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but I charged him. He caught me in mid-air as I threw myself at him, just like I knew he would, and pulled me into a soul-healing hug. I buried my face in the crook of his neck and breathed him in. I couldn’t contain a small sob. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. To most, this would appear intimate, but to us, this was home. This was a safe place. He was my friend — my best friend, my only friend. And I’d done nothing to foster it. I’d pretty much let it burn.

Just as a hug is the only way to express yourself when words are inadequate,mudras, or gestures, convey profound spiritual experiences that cannot adequately be expressed verbally. The most powerful,universal and healing mudra is a smile. When we overflow with joy, we cannot help but smile spontaneously. And when we are mired in doubt, fear, anxiety, and depression, a smile creates a map in the mind that leads us home to that joy that is hidden in even the darkest moments of our life. It is one thing to know that joy is possible in any moment—in any situation. It is another skill entirely to know when to find that joy when your world is crumbling around you. The map is with you always—just smile!

Brian is a deeply compassionate man who was sad to learn that his work colleague, Tom, had lost his 17-year-old daughter to a drug overdose. When Tom returned to work weeks later, Brian approached him and said, “Man, I am so sorry. There are no words to express my condolences. “Brian reached out to hug Tom. At first, he was rigid and on guard, but with Brian’s genuine embrace, he felt Tom release into his safety. Tom had been so incredibly strong for his wife and family that Brian’s powerful hug allowed him to surrender into another man’s strength. It was a memorable and powerful step towards healing. Sometimes a hug at the right time, even if spontaneous, can be the kindest thing you can do for another human being.

I believe that books, like people, come to us at the perfect time, with a purpose to either bring awareness to something we need to see or further guide us on our path.

So where are you two headed?” Linc put the kitten down. Tiny tail waving, it sauntered between Truck’s furry legs. The dog didn’t seem to mind. “Oh--out and about,” Kenzie said. She and Linc exchanged a look. “You tell him,” he said. “We stopped by to see Christine first. You were next on the list.” “Beg pardon? What list?” “Friends and family.” Kenzie stretched out her left hand and wiggled her fingers. An oval diamond set in platinum caught the sun. Jim’s eyes widened. “Way to go.” He beamed at both of them. “That’s one hell of a rock. You didn’t waste any time.” He gave Linc a nod of masculine approval. “So when’s the big day?” “We haven’t decided,” Kenzie answered. She didn’t want to say that they were keeping a low profile for as long as possible. The media furor over SKC had died down, but they were helping with the ongoing investigation. Life went on. Love had amazing power to heal. Truck picked up on the excitement and edged between the three of them, blocking the hug about to happen. “Routine stuff, Linc. He has final say,” Jim teased. The black-and-white dog took his time about it. Then he sat down in front of Linc, brushing his tail across the floor in wide waves. “He approves,” Kenzie said. “Never argue with a good dog.” Jim laughed. “All right, you two. Get out of here. I have work to do.” Kenzie got a hug in before he went back to his desk. “Congratulations.” He nodded toward the picture of his wife. “From me and Josie. She’ll be over the moon when she hears.

Really? Only one class and you're ready to kick him out?” the woman on the other end of the line inquired. “I'm sorry, that's not why I was calling,” Melanie said swiftly. “I'm calling because I wanted to know a little bit more about Mr. Styles, to see if there is a more efficient way that I can help him.” “Mr. Styles has been through three anger management courses and one Hugs for Healing program in the past two weeks. His attempts at fulfilling the court order with these classes have resulted in two counselors quitting, and several restraining orders.

The power to heal is all in the hug.

Within minutes, the other angels followed the sound of the collapsed tunnel and found Mikael’s location. They were able to dislodge enough of the rock and pull his broken body from the rubble. He had been severely crushed. Gabriel held him. “I can bring him back to the surface to heal.” Raphael said, “That leaves five. We can split up and try to surround the mole. He can’t hide here forever.” They heard the sound of a howl. “Dire wolves,” said Uriel. “We can’t chase him here forever.” Dire wolves were vicious, fanged black hounds of hell almost as tall as a man. Raphael said, “He must have bred them down here. There could be dozens.” “Or hundreds,” said Uriel. The angels could kill dozens of the wolves. But hundreds was another matter altogether. Several of them had almost been overwhelmed by a hundred dire wolves in the days of the giant King Arba, while rescuing Abraham and Sarah from the clutches of the Anakim in Kiriath-arba. They were rescued by a hundred archers. But they didn’t have a hundred archers down in this dungeon of dread darkness. “Take Mikael to safety,” said Uriel. “The rest of you draw the wolves back up to the surface.” They looked at Uriel with fear. Gabriel said, “No, Uriel. We can do this together.” Uriel grasped the leather harness of the special weapon strapped to his back. “I must do this alone.” They all knew what it meant. Uriel had the most sensitive senses. He was the best tracker of all of them. Gabriel protested more, “I will not let you.” “You have no choice.” They heard the sound of wolves getting closer. “And I have no time to quibble with you, Gabriel. Leave — all of you. Draw them after you.” Gabriel teared up. What Uriel was going to do was akin to suicide for humans. Raphael said, “He’s right.” They agreed silently. Gabriel went and grasped his friend in a bear hug that he didn’t seem to want to let go. “My brother.” “Stop your pouting, Gabriel. It’s only until the judgment.” Gabriel pulled away with an angry look in his face. It softened, and he said with a smirk, “You will finally outdo me, little friend.” Uriel gave him a dirty look. Little friend. There was still time to tease. “I outdid you a long time ago,” said Uriel with a grin. Gabriel added, “But there is still Armageddon. You don’t know what I might be capable of.” Uriel said, “Go. We’ll have all eternity to debate that.” They turned to leave. But their delay had lost them time. The underworld dire wolves were upon them. Fifty glowing eyes locked on them, approaching slowly, ready to pounce. There was only enough room to fight against one or two wolves at a time through the narrow passages. Gabriel stood at the back, carrying the broken form of Mikael, who was starting to heal, but not able to fight yet. The other four approached the wolves in single file.