Learning Petals Quotes

If he could learn to love another, and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast? -Beauty & the Beast

I want you to learn the lesson of the lotus. This flower springs forth from muddy waters. It raises its delicate petals to the sun and perfumes the world while, at the same time, its roots cling to the elemental muck, the very essence of the mortal experience. Without that soil, the flower would wither and die.

In mythos and fairy tales, deities and other great spirits test the hearts of humans by showing up in various forms that disguise their divinity. They show up in robes, rags, silver sashes, or with muddy feet. They show up with skin dark as old wood, or in scales made of rose petal, as a frail child, as a lime-yellow old woman, as a man who cannot speak, or as an animal who can. The great powers are testing to see if humans have yet learned to recognize the greatness of soul in all its varying forms.

Learn from your past and shut the door behind to live in present.Our past is just like a dry rose which was once a rose with all colors of life, with sweet fragrance, with soft petal, with thorns but now it is left with only thorns which could still hurt.

DAISIES It is possible, I suppose that sometime we will learn everything there is to learn: what the world is, for example, and what it means. I think this as I am crossing from one field to another, in summer, and the mockingbird is mocking me, as one who either knows enough already or knows enough to be perfectly content not knowing. Song being born of quest he knows this: he must turn silent were he suddenly assaulted with answers. Instead oh hear his wild, caustic, tender warbling ceaselessly unanswered. At my feet the white-petalled daisies display the small suns of their center piece, their -- if you don't mind my saying so -- their hearts. Of course I could be wrong, perhaps their hearts are pale and narrow and hidden in the roots. What do I know? But this: it is heaven itself to take what is given, to see what is plain; what the sun lights up willingly; for example -- I think this as I reach down, not to pick but merely to touch -- the suitability of the field for the daisies, and the daisies for the field.

way you find out how much they care is by looking into the eyes—eyes never learn how to lie.

In Kyoto I never experienced an air raid, but once when I was sent to the main factory in Osaka with some orders for spare parts for aircraft, there happened to be an attack and I saw one of the factory workers being carried out on a stretcher with his intestines exposed. What is so ghastly about exposed intestines? Why, when we see the insides of a human being do we have to cover our eyes in terror? Why are people so shocked by the sight of blood pouring out? Why are a man's intestines ugly? Is it not exactly the same in quality as the beauty of youthful, glossy skin? What sort of face would Tsurukawa make if I were to say that it was from him I had learned this manner of speaking - a manner of thinking that transformed my own ugliness into nothingness? Why does there seem to be something inhuman about regarding human beings like roses and refusing to make any distinction between the inside of their bodies and the outside? If only human beings could reverse their spirits and their bodies, could gracefully turn them inside out like rose petals and expose them to the spring breeze and the sun . . .

The fusty showman fumbles, must Fit in a particle of dust The universe, for fear it gain Its freedom from my cube of brain. Yet dust bears seeds that grow to grace Behind my crude-striped wooden face As I, a puppet tinsel-pink Leap on my springs, learn how to think— Till like the trembling golden stalk Of some long-petalled star, I walk Through the dark heavens, and the dew Falls on my eyes and sense thrills through.

The key to Happiness lies in learning to still the mind, learning to let go and learning to just keep walking, to just keep flowing with Life.

I have a whole world tucked away in my closet; sepia colored memories of my parents in the eighties, ticket stubs from movies I don’t remember because I was too busy exploring the mouth of a boy I do, and crinkled petals from a golden sunflower that said you still love me. And though you haven’t come back yet, I know you will, because sunflowers never lie. Sunflowers Never Lie

The physical stage of bonding is at its most powerful when all other forms of bonding have been achieved. If this has been done, the final petals of the flower have reached full maturity and unfold, leaving no restriction for pleasure, physical or otherwise. Having learned your partner and when to push, pull away or work together in fluid unison; having learned what enthuses and delights their senses, you are prepared to carry all of this knowledge into the sweet cadence of your unity.

The truth is, all the flowers in Paris - every last petal - could never fill the void that Alma left, and I know I may always grieve. But I have come to learn that we can never lose what we love deeply and truly. It becomes part of us.

This story is one for which some people will have to suspend their belief. If it wasn't me and this wasn't happening to me, I would be one of those people. Many won't struggle to believe it, though, for their minds have been opened; unlocked by whatever kind of key causes people to believe. Those people are either born that way or, as babies, when their minds are like little buds, they are nurtured until their petals slowly open and prepare for the very nature of life to feed them. As the rain falls and the sun shines, they grow, grow, grow; minds so open, they go through life aware and accepting, seeing light where there is dark, seeing possibility in dead ends, tasting victory as others spit out failure, questioning when others accept. Just a little less jaded, a little less cynical. A little less likely to throw in the towel. Some peoples' minds open later in life, through tragedy or triumph. Either thing acting as the key to unlatch and lift the lid on that know-it-all box, to accept the unknown, to say goodbye to pragmatism and straight lines. But then there are those whose minds are merely a bouquet of stalks, which bud as they learn new information - a new bud for a new fact - but yet they never open, never flourish. They are the people of capital letters and full stops, but never of question marks and ellipses...

Winter Grace It is autumn again and our anxiety blows With the wind, breaking the heart of the rose, Petals and leaves fall down and everything goes. All but the seed, all but the hard bright berry And the bulbs we kneel on the earth to bury And lay away with our anguish and our worry. It is time we learned again the winter grace To put the nerves to sleep in a dark place And smooth the lines in the self-tortured face. For we are at the end of our endurance nearly And we shall have to die this winter surely, For this is the end of more than a season clearly. Now we shall have to be poor, to yield up all, With the leaves wither, with the petals fall, Now we shall have to die, once and for all. Before the seed of faith so deep and still Pushes up gently through the frozen will And the joyless wake and learn to be joyful. Before this buried love leaps up from sorrow And doubt and violence and pity follow To greet the radiant morning and the swallow.

Durga wore a simple sea-green dress and a lei of lotus flowers. . . “Take this,” it has no special power except that the blooms will not fade, but it will serve a purpose on your voyage. I want you to learn the lesson of the lotus. This flower springs forth from muddy waters. It raises its delicate petals to the sun and perfumes the world while, at the same time, its roots cling to the elemental muck, the very essence of the mortal experience. Without that soil, the flower would wither and die.” She placed the lei over my neck. “Dig down and grow strong roots, my daughter, for you will stretch forth, break out of the waters and find peace on the calm surface at last. You will discover that if you hadn’t stretched, you would have drowned in the deep, never to blossom or share your gift with others.

Times and scenes like that put Janie to thinking about the inside state of her marriage. Time came when she fought back with her tongue as best she could, but it didn’t do her any good. It just made Joe do more. He wanted her submission and he’d keep on fighting until he felt he had it. So gradually, she pressed her teeth together and learned to hush. The spirit of the marriage left the bedroom and took to living in the parlor. It was there to shake hands whenever company came to visit, but it never went back inside the bedroom again. So she put something in there to represent the spirit like a Virgin Mary image in a church. The bed was no longer a daisy-field for her and Joe to play in. It was a place where she went and laid down when she was sleepy and tired. She wasn’t petal-open anymore with him.

I grow wildflowers from my back like a fertile garden and you pick them one by one until I am all bare roots and broken stems. You pluck the petals- She loves me, she loves me not but that’s the problem, see; I’m kneeling at your feet, offering you the skin off my back and still you need an old wives’ tale to prove that it’s enough.

She would curl herself onto the couch and listen to him making paintings out of sound. And each piece was a different picture. In her mind’s eye, she could see a garden full of trees with white leaves and a fountain with blush-pink petals floating in the clear water—that was a concerto. The volta: scarlet and plum-colored ribbons winding around each other, battling for dominance. A requiem . . . a lone horse walking down a dimly lit cobbled road, looking for a rider that had died long ago. From these dead foreigners whose names she was slowly growing accustomed to, Nori was learning what it was to live a thousand lifetimes of joy and sorrow without ever leaving this house.

He sensed he learned a lesson, although the precise meaning of that lesson wasn't clear to him.

And the way you find out how much they care is by looking into the eyes—eyes never learn how to lie.

Looking the part and thinking the part is more than halfway to living the part; it’s called the Think System and I learned it as a little girl watching The Music Man.

He had to do so, because he learned through the lesson of petals and thorns and a pretty girl that you are only worth how good your soul truly is.

When you learn to flow with Life, you discover the way to just be. When you simply are, you are happy!

A crisis is a great teacher. So, learn to love your crisis. Going through it with acceptance, and a seeking spirit, you will emerge stronger, wiser and happy!

I have learned to see in the dark I have learned to love my sadness

And gradually you'll bloom For- it takes time for a flower To bloom

It is only one Life that you have; just this one lifetime! So, please don’t postpone Happiness, don’t postpone living. Of course, you can’t avoid the lows, the crises, the tragedies. But you can learn to be happy despite the circumstances. You do that by accepting whatever comes your way and by letting go of debilitating emotions. Remember: only when you let go of something can you receive another…clinging on never helps…so, to receive grace and abundance…let go, let go, let go…of all that makes you unhappy and…simply flow with Life!

Farmers base their livelihoods on raising crops. But farmers do not make plants grow. They don't attach the roots, glue on the petals, or color the fruit. The plant grows itself. Farmers and gardeners provide the conditions for growth. Good farmers know what those conditions are, and bad ones don't.

There are no constraints in Life when you learn to flow with it. Flowing is an important quality to be embraced. It is an art. You can and must learn it. When you are flowing with Life, you are not resisting it; therefore, there is no conflict. Whatever is, you are accepting it and are going with the flow of Life. This does not mean you must not work towards changing what you don’t like about your Life. It means that while you are working on changing your current reality, you are willing to be led by the process of Life. This is a beautiful state to be in – contentment, inner peace and Happiness are guaranteed!

No institution of learning of Ingersoll's day had courage enough to confer upon him an honorary degree; not only for his own intellectual accomplishments, but also for his influence upon the minds of the learned men and women of his time and generation. Robert G. Ingersoll never received a prize for literature. The same prejudice and bigotry which prevented his getting an honorary college degree, militated against his being recognized as 'the greatest writer of the English language on the face of the earth,' as Henry Ward Beecher characterized him. Aye, in all the history of literature, Robert G. Ingersoll has never been excelled -- except by only one man, and that man was -- William Shakespeare. And yet there are times when Ingersoll even surpassed the immortal Bard. Yes, there are times when Ingersoll excelled even Shakespeare, in expressing human emotions, and in the use of language to express a thought, or to paint a picture. I say this fully conscious of my own admiration for that 'intellectual ocean, whose waves touched all the shores of thought.' Ingersoll was perfection himself. Every word was properly used. Every sentence was perfectly formed. Every noun, every verb and every object was in its proper place. Every punctuation mark, every comma, every semicolon, and every period was expertly placed to separate and balance each sentence. To read Ingersoll, it seems that every idea came properly clothed from his brain. Something rare indeed in the history of man's use of language in the expression of his thoughts. Every thought came from his brain with all the beauty and perfection of the full blown rose, with the velvety petals delicately touching each other. Thoughts of diamonds and pearls, rubies and sapphires rolled off his tongue as if from an inexhaustible mine of precious stones. Just as the cut of the diamond reveals the splendor of its brilliance, so the words and construction of the sentences gave a charm and beauty and eloquence to Ingersoll's thoughts. Ingersoll had everything: The song of the skylark; the tenderness of the dove; the hiss of the snake; the bite of the tiger; the strength of the lion; and perhaps more significant was the fact that he used each of these qualities and attributes, in their proper place, and at their proper time. He knew when to embrace with the tenderness of affection, and to resist and denounce wickedness and tyranny with that power of denunciation which he, and he alone, knew how to express.

I want you to learn the lesson of the lotus. This flower springs forth from muddy waters. It raises its delicate petals to the sun and perfumes the world while, at the same time, its roots cling to the elemental muck, the very essence of the mortal experience. Without that soil, the flower would wither and die.

I consider where you might play now, as I lay staring out at the horizon. Plucking a petal, I whisper a message and let it float into the gentle breeze. The words will drift out of the garden, across the changed roads we used to tread. Circling new ground to find their feet, they will learn a new language to speak. [Seeking Sanctuary]

This was why love was so dangerous. Love turned the world into a garden, so beguiling it was easy to forget that rose petals sails appeared charmed. They blazed red in the day and silver at night, like a magician’s cloak, hinting at mysteries concealed beneath, which Tella planned to uncover that night. Drunken laughter floated above her as Tella delved deeper into the ship’s underbelly in search of Nigel the Fortune-teller. Her first evening on the vessel she’d made the mistake of sleeping, not realizing until the following day that Legend’s performers had switched their waking hours to prepare for the next Caraval. They slumbered in the day and woke after sunset. All Tella had learned her first day aboard La Esmeralda was that Nigel was on the ship, but she had yet to actually see him. The creaking halls beneath decks were like the bridges of Caraval, leading different places at different hours and making it difficult to know who stayed in which room. Tella wondered if Legend had designed it that way, or if it was just the unpredictable nature of magic. She imagined Legend in his top hat, laughing at the question and at the idea that magic had more control than he did. For many, Legend was the definition of magic. When she had first arrived on Isla de los Sueños, Tella suspected everyone could be Legend. Julian had so many secrets that she’d questioned if Legend’s identity was one of them, up until he’d briefly died. Caspar, with his sparkling eyes and rich laugh, had played the role of Legend in the last game, and at times he’d been so convincing Tella wondered if he was actually acting. At first sight, Dante, who was almost too beautiful to be real, looked like the Legend she’d always imagined. Tella could picture Dante’s wide shoulders filling out a black tailcoat while a velvet top hat shadowed his head. But the more Tella thought about Legend, the more she wondered if he even ever wore a top hat. If maybe the symbol was another thing to throw people off. Perhaps Legend was more magic than man and Tella had never met him in the flesh at all. The boat rocked and an actual laugh pierced the quiet. Tella froze. The laughter ceased but the air in the thin corridor shifted. What had smelled of salt and wood and damp turned thick and velvet-sweet. The scent of roses. Tella’s skin prickled; gooseflesh rose on her bare arms. At her feet a puddle of petals formed a seductive trail of red. Tella might not have known Legend’s true name, but she knew he favored red and roses and games. Was this his way of toying with her? Did he know what she was up to? The bumps on her arms crawled up to her neck and into her scalp as her newest pair of slippers crushed the tender petals. If Legend knew what she was after, Tella couldn’t imagine he would guide her in the correct direction, and yet the trail of petals was too tempting to avoid. They led to a door that glowed copper around the edges. She turned the knob. And her world transformed into a garden, a paradise made of blossoming flowers and bewitching romance. The walls were formed of moonlight. The ceiling was made of roses that dripped down toward the table in the center of the room, covered with plates of cakes and candlelight and sparkling honey wine. But none of it was for Tella. It was all for Scarlett. Tella had stumbled into her sister’s love story and it was so romantic it was painful to watch. Scarlett stood across the chamber. Her full ruby gown bloomed brighter than any flowers, and her glowing skin rivaled the moon as she gazed up at Julian. They touched nothing except each other. While Scarlett pressed her lips to Julian’s, his arms wrapped around her as if he’d found the one thing he never wanted to let go of. This was why love was so dangerous. Love turned the world into a garden, so beguiling it was easy to forget that rose petals were as ephemeral as feelings, eventually they would wilt and die, leaving nothing but the thorns.

Whether you believe in this idea or not, Time changes everyone, it changes everything. Everyone and every thing is a product of the Time they go through. What goes up, comes down, only to go up again; and what goes around, comes around. When you awaken to this truth, you learn to keep the Faith, to trust the process of Life, and to be patient through your journey here.

MY FATHER If I have to write a poem about my father it has to be about integrity and kindness — the selfless kind of kindness that is so very rare I am sure there will be many people living somewhere who must be as kind as him but what I mean to say is I have not met one yet and when it comes to helping others he always helps too much and as the saying goes — help someone, you earn a friend. help someone too much, you make an enemy. — so you know the gist of what I’m trying to say here anyways I was talking about the poem about my father it has to be about passion and hard work because you see you cannot separate these things from him they are part of him as his two eyes and two hands and his heart and his soul and his whole being and you cannot separate wind and waves or living and the universe or earth and heavens and although he never got any award from bureaucracy the students he taught ages ago still touch his feet and some of them are the people you have to make an appointment to meet even if it is for two minutes of their time and that’s a reward for him bigger than any other that some of his colleagues got for their flattery and also I have to write about reliability as well because you see as the sun always rises and the snowflakes are always six-folds and the spring always comes and the petals of a sunflower and every flower follows the golden ratio of symmetry my father never fails to keep his promise I have to mention the rage as well that he always carries inside him like a burning fire for wrongdoings for injustice and now he carries a bitterness too for people who used him good and discarded as it always happens with every good man in our world of humans and you must be thinking he has learned his lessons well you go to him — it does not matter who you are if he knows you or you are a stranger from other side of the world — and ask for his help he will be happy to do so as you must know people never change not their soul in any case.

True enlightenment arrives the moment you understand the difference between your wants and your needs. When you awaken to this understanding, you will realize that Life has always been providing for you, caring for you, giving you all that you need. This is how you stop wanting anything, anymore and start living with what you have, with what is. This is how you learn to be happy despite your circumstances.

What we think is breaking us, is actually making us…yes, it is breaking the stranglehold of debilitating emotions that are pinning us down and holding us hostage…and through learning to deal with these emotions, we emerge resilient, content and anchored. Which is why it is important to learn to live fully with what is – to learn to be non-worrying, non-frustrated and non-suffering, to be happy despite your circumstances.

Sadness, my enemy, is gaining ground, Ingrid. At this rate in the years I have left I'm going to turn into a hermit.' 'That would be death in life, Victor. Do as I do. Don't wait to defend yourself against that enemy, go out and confront it. It took me years in therapy to learn that.' 'What reasons do you have to be sad, child?' 'That's what my husband asks me. I don't know, Victor, I suppose you don't need reasons; it's part of your nature.

No matter what you are going through, the process of Life is beautiful. It may be challenging, painful and, at times, agonizingly slow. Or it may flow freely, generously, bringing you all that you want. But, unfailingly, Life never ceases to amaze or surprise. It is this inscrutable quality of Life that makes the process beautiful. When you accept the process of Life for what it is, for the way it is, unquestioningly, you see its beauty. That’s how you learn to be happy despite the circumstances.

No matter how talented and successful you are, you have to go through what you have to go through. So learn to accept pain and be happy despite the circumstances. Be happy with what you have. Also, learn to appreciate the impermanence of everything: Of Life itself surely. Also, of name, fame, wealth, success and glory. And of failure too. Focus instead on what you love doing and do it very, very well. Simply, if you create great, unputdownable work, both you and your work will be remembered. Forever.

Slowly, very slowly, that is how you learn to cope with trauma, grief and pain. It always seems to be a never-ending process. The coping doesn’t quite cease; it always appears to be in the present continuous. Then, over time, when you begin to accept the pain and see the pointlessness of grieving endlessly, you slowly learn to move on. Your Life will never be the way it once was. But you will slowly learn to co-live with the pain while setting down the grief. You will slowly, eventually, learn to be happy despite what happened and despite the circumstances.

Life is not only about going after name, money, success, fame and fortune and getting all of them. It is also about how you live with humility, dignity, and discipline when all of what you attained and acquired are taken away from you. Resilience and equanimity cannot be developed and deployed in simulated environments. They are always discovered within you, when you stand in the middle of the battle of Life, in the chaos, in the eye of the storm. It is by facing Life and learning to be happy, to be useful, despite your circumstances, that you become stronger.

Facing your fears is key to flowing with Life…Flowing is an important word here: are you flowing with Life or are you fighting it? When you flow with Life, through accepting and living with what is, then miraculously, magically, Life reveals a big secret to you – that fearlessness is not the absence of fear…in fact, it is what fear delivers to you when you turn around and face a situation that is tormenting you, scaring you. What you run away from, will chase you, haunt you…but when you face your fears, the game changes dramatically! You are in control now, not your fears! And when you are in control, while you may not be able to solve every problem immediately, you can deal with the situation calmly, efficiently. This is how you learn to be happy, no matter what you are going through!

Every Life experience is teaching you a lesson. It is likely you may not see the experience as an opportunity to learn – not when you are going through it. But your experiences are always shaping you, teaching you; they are helping you understand who you really are and what your true potential is. So, don’t hate what you are going through if you are currently dealing with something that you didn’t bargain for or didn’t want in your Life. Just step back, climb onto the fly-on-the-wall position, and observe your Life. You will then notice unmistakable teachable, learnable, points of view embedded in your experience. To take them or leave them – well, that’s your personal choice! One thing’s for sure though, you will be a lot more at peace – and happy – when you learn from your experiences!

Those diversions sparked her life with momentary excitement. Without them, Charis felt she would be driven mad by the unrelenting sameness of life in the palace. Now and again she imagined that she would like to run away, to disguise herself and travel the tumbled hills, to see life among the simple herdsmen and their families; or perhaps she would take a boat and sail the coasts, visiting tiny, sun-baked fishing villages and learning the rhythm of the sea. Unfortunately, making good either of those plans would mean taking action, and the only thing more palpable than the boredom she endured was the inertia that enclosed her like a massive fist. The weighty impossibility of changing her life in any but the most insignificant detail insured that she would not try. She sighed again and returned to the corridor, pausing to pick a sunshade from a nearby bush, idly plucking the delicate yellow petals and dropping them one by one, like days, fluttering from her hand.

While imprisoned in the shed Pierre had learned not with his intellect but with his whole being, by life itself, that man is created for happiness, that happiness is within him, in the satisfaction of simple human needs, and that all unhappiness arises not from privation but from superfluity. And now during these last three weeks of the march he had learned still another new, consolatory truth—that nothing in this world is terrible. He had learned that as there is no condition in which man can be happy and entirely free, so there is no condition in which he need be unhappy and lack freedom. He learned that suffering and freedom have their limits and that those limits are very near together; that the person in a bed of roses with one crumpled petal suffered as keenly as he now, sleeping on the bare damp earth with one side growing chilled while the other was warming; and that when he had put on tight dancing shoes he had suffered just as he did now when he walked with bare feet that were covered with sores—his footgear having long since fallen to pieces.

Your Olympic medal.I went looking for you in your office." "The medal lures parents who can afford the tuition." "It's something to be proud of." "I am proud of it." With her free hand she brushed her hair as the breeze teased it. Her fingertips skimmed over the soft petals of the flower. "But it doesn't define me." "Not like,what was it? A British tie?" The laugh got away from her, and eased the odd tension that had been building inside her. "Here's a surprise. With a great deal of time and some effort, I might begin to like you." "I've plenty of time." He released her hand to toy with the ends of her hair. She jerked back. "You're a skittish one," he murmured. "No, not particularly." Usually, she thought. With most people. "The thing is, I like to touch," he told her and deliberately skimmed his fingers over her hair again. "It's that...connection.You learn by touching." "I don't..." She trailed off when those fingers ran firmly down the back of her neck. "I've learned you carry your worries right there, right at the base there. More worries than show on your face. It's a staggering face you have, Keeley. Throws a man off.

Many won’t struggle to believe it though, for their minds have been opened; unlocked by whatever kind of key causes people to believe. They’re either born that way or, as babies, their little budlike minds are nurtured until their petals slowly open and prepare for the very nature of life to feed them. As the rain falls and the sun shines, they grow, grow, grow; minds so open they go through life aware and accepting, seeing light where there’s dark, seeing possibility in dead ends, tasting victory as others spit out failure, questioning when others accept. Just a little less jaded, a little less cynical. A little less likely to throw in the towel. Some people’s minds open later in life, through tragedy or triumph, either thing acting as the key to unlatch and lift the lid on that know-it-all box, to accept the unknown, to say good-bye to pragmatism and straight lines. But then there are those whose minds are merely a bouquet of stalks that bud as they learn new information—a new bud for each new fact—but yet they never open, never flourish. They are the people of capital letters and full stops but never of question marks and ellipses

Is that an orchid?" I asked, pointing to a particularly unattractive small brown plant. "Maxillaria tenuifolia," said Sonali. "One of my favorites. This little brown orchid is a species. Not as spectacular as a hybrid, but very satisfying nonetheless. Its charms are quite powerful. Come closer and smell it." I leaned over the ugly brown plant. "Coconut pie! How is that possible?" "Wonderful, isn't it? She doesn't need bright, flashy colors or spectacular sprays of flowers. Her pollinators, the moths, come out at night. She uses her coconut scent to guide and entice the little moth in much the way we use perfume to entice men in nightclubs and cafés." Sonali winked at me. "You can learn much about how an orchid is pollinated by the way it looks. White, pink, and pale-green flowers usually get pollinated at night, since those colors are easily seen under moonlight. The little moth sneaks up on the flower in the middle of the night like a lover. He lands on her, pollinates her, and then leaves. We've all had that experience, yes?" "Yes," I said, thinking of Exley. "Brightly colored orchids, on the other hand, are pollinated by butterflies and birds. Butterflies prefer red and orange. Bees love orange and yellow all the way through to ultraviolet." "Just like certain men like certain color clothing," I said. "Yes, colored petals are the clothing of flowers. The insect must find a way through those petals to get what he wants, like a man brushing his hand through the layers of a woman's skirt.

I love the commanding tone of your voice and how it falls in gentle rhythms. I love how you dance like the waves and pull me in with your tide. You're every ounce as beautiful as the sea and every bit as wild. You have no idea the extent how vibrantly you glow, but perhaps you're learning. And I love that. I love you." A flutter in my chest multiplies, blooming and blooming and blooming, like the kaleidoscope in my dream. Only this time, it doesn't shatter. It holds me there in that rose-gold glow. I burst, but in a way that's expansive, not destructive. I leap forward, pressing my lips to his, obliterated by the dew-damp softness. His eyes widen as he pulls away. I gape at him, flushed. "I---I'm sorry." He hesitates, but then he pounces, drawing me towards his embrace and crushing my open mouth. It happens so fast. He grabs me by the thighs, welling up my skirt as he carries me out of the water. My fingers curl through his hair, and novas explode as he slips his tongue onto mine. He holds me tighter, kissing me over and over again like repeating a melody. It's as natural as language, as wild as the roaring sea. We fall to the ground, and a bed of flowers blossoms beneath us, pale pink and soft. The velvet petals tangle in my hair as he presses into me--- skin on skin, blooming with wild heat. We fold into each other, our arms coiling like serpents, my fingers tracing his body. He pulls away for just a moment, but only to study me like the rarest opal, admiring my every color and curve before kissing my lips--- sweet and soft and slow. We repeat the motions in a ritual that's only our own. I try to catch my thoughts, but they're all tangled up . Though, there's one thing I know for sure. Through my unsteady breathing, I whisper, "I love you, too." Despite what the Devil thinks, I am capable of love, and I won't let him win, not now. Damien and I collapse into the damp petals, surrendering to the night.

MY FATHER If I have to write a poem about my father it has to be about integrity and kindness — the selfless kind of kindness that is so very rare I am sure there will be many people living somewhere who must be as kind as him but what I mean to say is I have not met one yet and when it comes to helping others he always helps too much and as the saying goes — help someone, you earn a friend. help someone too much, you make an enemy. — so you know the gist of what I’m trying to say here anyways I was talking about the poem about my father it has to be about passion and hard work because you see you cannot separate these things from him they are part of him as his two eyes and two hands and his heart and his soul and his whole being and you cannot separate wind and waves or living and the universe or earth and heavens and although he never got any award from bureaucracy the students he taught ages ago still touch his feet and some of them are the people you have to make an appointment to meet even if it is for two minutes of their time and that’s a reward for him bigger than any other that some of his colleagues got for their flattery and also I have to write about reliability as well because you see as the sun always rises and the snowflakes are always six-folds and the spring always comes and the petals of a sunflower and every flower follows the golden ratio of symmetry my father never fails to keep his promise I have to mention the rage as well that he always carries inside him like a burning fire for wrongdoings for injustice and now he carries a bitterness too for people who used him good and discarded as it always happens with every good man in our world of humans and you must be thinking he has learned his lessons well you go to him — it does not matter who you are if he knows you or you are a stranger from other side of the world — and ask for his help he will be happy to do so as you must know people never change not their soul in any case.

Flowers. Lots of women say they don’t want them. But every woman is happy when they get them. Which is why I’ve arranged to have them delivered to Kate’s office, every hour on the hour. Seven dozen at a time. That’s one dozen for every day we were apart. Romantic, right? I thought so too. And although I know Kate’s favorite are white daisies, I specifically told the florist to avoid them. Instead, I’ve chosen exotics—bouquets with brightly colored petals and strange shapes. The kinds of flowers Kate has probably never seen in her life, from places she’s never been. Places I want to take her to. At first I kept the notes simple and generic. Take a look: Kate, I'm sorry. Drew Kate, Let me make it up to you. Drew Kate, I miss you. Please forgive me. Drew. But after a few hours I figured I needed to step it up a notch. Get more creative. What do you think? Kate, You're turning me into a stalker. Drew Kate, Go out with me on Saturday and I'll give you all of my clients. Every. Single. One. Drew Kate, If I throw myself in front of a bus, will you come visit me at the hospital? Drew PS - Try not to feel too guilty if I don't survive. Really. That last batch was delivered forty-five minutes ago. Now I’m just sitting at my desk, waiting. Waiting for what, you ask? You’ll see. Kate may be stubborn, but she’s not made of stone. My office door slams open, leaving a dent in the drywall. Here we go. “You are driving me crazy!” Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing’s fast, and she’s got murder in her eyes. Beautiful. I raise my brows hopefully. “Crazy? Like you want to rip my shirt open again?” “No. Crazy like the itch of a yeast infection that just won’t go away.” I flinch. Can’t help it. I mean—Christ. Kate steps toward my desk. “I am trying to work. I need to focus. And you’ve got Manny, Moe, and Jack playing every cheesy eighties song ever written outside my office door!” “Cheesy? Really? Huh. I so had you pegged for an eighties kind of girl.” Well, you live and learn.

Mr Casaubon’s behaviour about settlements was highly satisfactory to Mr Brooke, and the preliminaries of marriage rolled smoothly along, shortening the weeks of courtship. The betrothed bride must see her future home, and dictate any changes that she would like to have made there. A woman dictates before marriage in order that she may have an appetite for submission afterwards. And certainly, the mistakes that we male and female mortals make when we have our own way might fairly raise some wonder that we are so fond of it. On a grey but dry November morning Dorothea drove to Lowick in company with her uncle and Celia. Mr Casaubon’s home was the manor-house. Close by, visible from some parts of the garden, was the little church, with the old parsonage opposite. In the beginning of his career, Mr Casaubon had only held the living, but the death of his brother had put him in possession of the manor also. It had a small park, with a fine old oak here and there, and an avenue of limes towards the south-west front, with a sunk fence between park and pleasure-ground, so that from the drawing-room windows the glance swept uninterruptedly along a slope of greensward till the limes ended in a level of corn and pastures, which often seemed to melt into a lake under the setting sun. This was the happy side of the house, for the south and east looked rather melancholy even under the brightest morning. The grounds here were more confined, the flower-beds showed no very careful tendance, and large clumps of trees, chiefly of sombre yews, had risen high, not ten yards from the windows. The building, of greenish stone, was in the old English style, not ugly, but small-windowed and melancholy-looking: the sort of house that must have children, many flowers, open windows, and little vistas of bright things, to make it seem a joyous home. In this latter end of autumn, with a sparse remnant of yellow leaves falling slowly athwart the dark evergreens in a stillness without sunshine, the house too had an air of autumnal decline, and Mr Casaubon, when he presented himself, had no bloom that could be thrown into relief by that background. ‘Oh dear!’ Celia said to herself, ‘I am sure Freshitt Hall would have been pleasanter than this.’ She thought of the white freestone, the pillared portico, and the terrace full of flowers, Sir James smiling above them like a prince issuing from his enchantment in a rosebush, with a handkerchief swiftly metamorphosed from the most delicately-odorous petals—Sir James, who talked so agreeably, always about things which had common-sense in them, and not about learning! Celia had those light young feminine tastes which grave and weather-worn gentlemen sometimes prefer in a wife; but happily Mr Casaubon’s bias had been different, for he would have had no chance with Celia.

When you teach someone your true name, you place everything you are in their hands.” “I know, but I may never have the chance again. This is the only thing I have to give, and I would give it to you.” “Eragon, what you are proposing…It is the most precious thing one person can give another.” “I know.” A shiver ran through Arya, and then she seemed to withdraw within herself. After a time, she said, “No one has ever offered me such a gift before…I’m honored by your trust, Eragon, and I understand how much this means to you, but no, I must decline. It would be wrong for you to do this and wrong for me to accept just because tomorrow we may be killed or enslaved. Danger is no reason to act foolishly, no matter how great our peril.” Eragon inclined his head. Her reasons were good reasons, and he would respect her choice. “Very well, as you wish,” he said. “Thank you, Eragon.” A moment passed. Then he said, “Have you ever told anyone your true name?” “No.” “Not even your mother?” Her mouth twisted. “No.” “Do you know what it is?” “Of course. Why would you think otherwise?” He half shrugged. “I didn’t. I just wasn’t sure.” Silence came between them. Then, “When…how did you learn your true name?” Arya was quiet for so long, he began to think that she would refuse to answer. Then she took a breath and said, “It was a number of years after I left Du Weldenvarden, when I finally had become accustomed to my role among the Varden and the dwarves. Faolin and my other companions were away, and I had a great deal of time to myself. I spent most of it exploring Tronjheim, wandering in the empty reaches of the city-mountain, where others rarely tread. Tronjheim is bigger than most realize, and there are many strange things within it: rooms, people, creatures, forgotten artifacts…As I wandered, I thought, and I came to know myself better than ever I had before. One day I discovered a room somewhere high in Tronjheim--I doubt I could locate it again, even if I tried. A beam of sunlight seemed to pour into the room, though the ceiling was solid, and in the center of the room was a pedestal, and upon the pedestal was growing a single flower. I do not know what kind of flower it was; I have never seen its like before or since. The petals were purple, but the center of the blossom was like a drop of blood. There were thorns upon the stem, and the flower exuded the most wonderful scent and seemed to hum with a music all its own. It was such an amazing and unlikely thing to find, I stayed in the room, staring at the flower for longer than I can remember, and it was then and there that I was finally able to put words to who I was and who I am.” “I would like to see that flower someday.” “Perhaps you will.” Arya glanced toward the Varden’s camp. “I should go. There is much yet to be done.” He nodded. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.” “Tomorrow.” Arya began to walk away. After a few steps, she paused and looked back. “I’m glad that Saphira chose you as her Rider, Eragon. And I’m proud to have fought alongside you. You have become more than any of us dared hope. Whatever happens tomorrow, know that.” Then she resumed her stride, and soon she disappeared around the curve of the hill, leaving him alone with Saphira and the Eldunarí.

Allowing ourselves to receive love is one of the greatest challenges we face in recovery. Many of us have blocked ourselves from receiving love. We may have lived with people who used love to control us. They would be there for us, but at the high price of our freedom. Love was given, or withheld, to control us and have power over us. It was not safe for us to receive love from these people. We may have gotten accustomed to not receiving love, not acknowledging our need for love, because we lived with people who had no real love to give. At some point in recovery, we acknowledge that we, too, want and need to be loved. We may feel awkward with this need. Where do we go with it? What do we do? Who can give us love? How can we determine who is safe and who isn’t? How can we let others care for us without feeling trapped, abused, frightened, and unable to care for ourselves? We will learn. The starting point is surrender—to our desire to be loved, our need to be nurtured and loved. We will grow confident in our ability to take care of ourselves with people. We will feel safe enough to let people care for us; we will grow to trust our ability to choose people who are safe and who can give us love. We may need to get angry first—angry that our needs have not been met. Later, we can become grateful to those people who have shown us what we don’t want, the ones who have assisted us in the process of believing we deserve love, and the ones who come into our life to love us. We are opening up like flowers. Sometimes it hurts as the petals push open. Be glad. Our heart is opening up to the love that is and will continue to be there for us. Surrender to the love that is there for us, to the love that people, the Universe, and our Higher Power send our way. Surrender to love, without allowing people to control us or keep us from caring for ourselves. Start by surrendering to love for yourself. Today, I will open myself to the love that is here for me. I will let myself receive love that is safe, knowing I can take care of myself with people. I will be grateful to all the people from my past who have assisted me in my process of opening up to love. I claim, accept, and am grateful for the love that is coming to me. Lessons

Give her a solid, practical name,' I told my wife when the child was born. Jane or Constance or something of the sort. Instead she chose Marguerite... French, mind you!... after a cousin on her maternal side. And then it degenerated further when Lillian, who was only four at the time, learned that Marguerite was the French word for a damned insignificant flower. But from then on Lillian called her Daisy, and it stuck..." As Bowman continued to ramble, Matthew thought of how perfect the name was, the small white-petaled flower that appeared so delicate and yet was remarkably hardy. It said something that in a family of overpowering personalities that Daisy had always remained stubbornly true to her own nature.

When you are a witness to a moment in nature you are celebrating. For instance, when you are watching a sunrise or sunset, you are not processing. You simply are. You are captivated by the spectacle. You are not passing any judgment. You just are. Similarly, occasionally, you must rise to be a witness to your own Life. Not to observe, engage, judge or review. But to just be like a fly on your Life's wall. Be a witness. When you are a witness, you learn more about yourself. And when you employ that learning you transform.

Often times in Life, your efforts may not bring you the results that you want. That’s when you feel frustrated and defeated. But think about it deeply: Life never gave you any guarantees. It never promised you that your efforts will be rewarded instantaneously. So, in reality, it is not Life that is frustrating you. It is your expectation that your effort must immediately yield you a certain result that is frustrating you. Drop that expectation and learn to be non-frustrated. Only then will you be happy. Now, employ your Happiness in working harder. Work smarter. Make your effort unputdownable. And leave the outcome to Life. Enjoy the process of making the effort meaningful instead of craving for the reward that you believe you deserve.

Life is a constant tightrope walk. And every experience that you go through teaches you how walk this tightrope, how to live – and lead – in a let go. Leadership is essentially the ability to face any situation in Life and do what needs to be done, efficiently and effectively. And living in a let go means to trust the process of Life. So, leading in a let go is what Life is all about. Master this art and you will learn to live your Life better – meaningfully, calmly, happily!

There are three factors that influence the human experience through this journey called Life. Time. Divinity. Grace. While your time on the planet is always subject to surprises and upheavals, divinity and grace are freely, constantly, available. And the best way to deal with the inscrutable and unpredictable nature of time is to embrace the constants, divinity and grace. That’s how you learn to flow with Life – without resisting what is, with equanimity.

Happiness is the ability to be non-worrying, non-frustrated and non-suffering despite the circumstances. This is an art. And you learn this art by learning to train your mind.

Be easy on yourself. It is the first time always – whether you are an adult, spouse, parent, professional, #BlissCatcher or entrepreneur. And each situation, for each person, is unique. Besides, Life does not come with an operations manual! It is only by playing the game of Life, and learning from each experience, that you get better and better at living Life fully!

She thought of the wax-white knook and shivered as she brushed against a pale pink tree branch. Was nothing the proper color here? Even the greens were more brilliant, more like paint than nature, the kinds of outlandish color she usually tried to temper in her own artwork. If she stayed, she thought absently, she could paint with the trees themselves, learn to sculpt petals and dew, hone even an animal into an ideal she created for it. She could craft beauty more rare and arresting than she ever could with watercolor and oil. She'd craved more of the world on the other side of the veil, wanted to taste the kind of success and belonging Alaine had, wanted recognition for her talents. Perhaps she could make that for herself here. Perrysburg, Pierce--- those had been poor illusions blurring what she really wanted. It would not be all pain, would it? Trading herself for Emily? All the places she had ever wanted to go, all the things she had ever wanted to see, all the art she had ever wanted to create--- didn't this place outstrip anything in her own world for beauty and discovery?

For some reason, Rabbit was reminded of the poisonous plant they were learning about in Vital Sciences, the tundra. It was a low growing plant that bloomed perfectly triangular petals the same teal blue shade as Baikal's eyes. Their vibrancy attracted insects and small rodents who supped on them, completely unaware that the plant was poisonous. In the wild, beautiful things tended to be.

2 + 2 doesn’t always add up to 4 in Life. Integrity and hard work, for instance, don’t always deliver (worldly) success no matter how talented you are. Which is why faith and patience are critical on the journey. So, trust the process of Life. And be patient. Over time, you will learn to love the Life that you have. And, eventually, what you want will flow to you, on its own.

She was pleasantly surprised at how much remained. Her parents had abandoned a heap of old Caltreyan clothes. Selecting one of the island dresses, Kiela shook it out. Dust plumed in the air. The skirt was a quilt of blue--- sky blue, sapphire blue, sea blue--- all stitched together with silvery thread and hemmed with silver ribbon, and the bodice was a soft white blouse. Not at all a city style, but it was perfect for a picnic in a garden or a stroll on a shore. With a few repairs, she could wear a lot of her mother's abandoned clothes, and she could use her father's for... She wasn't sure what, but they were nice to have. She'd find a use for them. If nothing else, she could chop the fabric up into cleaning rags. Or perhaps learn to quilt? There was a moth-eaten blanket in one closet, in addition to the old quilts on the daybed and her parents' bed. Each quilt had its own pattern--- one was comprised of colors of the sunset and sewn in strips like rays of light, while another was the brown and pale green of a spring garden with pieces cut like petals and sewn like abstract flowers. We left so many beautiful things behind. She'd had no idea. She'd been too little to help much with the packing, though she remembered she'd tried. Carrying an armful of clothes into the kitchen, Kiela dumped them into the sink to soak in water. She planned to use the excess line from the boat to hang them out in the sun to dry. They'll be even more beautiful once they're clean. The kitchen cabinet produced more treasures: a few plates, bowls, and cups. Each bowl was painted with pictures of strawberries and raspberries, and the plates were painted with tomatoes and asparagus. The teacups bore delicate pictures of flowers.

Eyes never learn how to lie

being, by life itself, that man is created for happiness, that happiness is within him, in the satisfaction of simple human needs, and that all unhappiness arises not from privation but from superfluity. And now during these last three weeks of the march he had learned still another new, consolatory truth—that nothing in this world is terrible. He had learned that as there is no condition in which man can be happy and entirely free, so there is no condition in which he need be unhappy and lack freedom. He learned that suffering and freedom have their limits and that those limits are very near together; that the person in a bed of roses with one crumpled petal suffered as keenly as he now, sleeping on the bare damp earth with one side growing chilled while the

Mystic Moon Dreaming Pillows Sometimes, when we are in need of extra rest, or when we just want to reach a deeper sleep state, we can achieve this by the use of dreaming pillows—small sachet like pillows that we can tuck inside of our pillow cases. Depending on the herbs, the pillows can encourage vivid dreams, astral work, or restful sleep. This recipe is designed to help promote peaceful slumber, since so many of us don’t get enough time in bed in this fast-paced world. You will need: 2 seven-inch squares of sturdy, purple material—linen works well Gold thread and needle or sewing machine Cotton batting 1/2 cup each: dried lavender mugwort rose petals lemon balm chamomile valerian root 3 drops lavender essential oil 3 drops lemon essential oil 2 drops rosemary essential oil Small spike of quartz crystal Mix herbs together in a bowl, focusing on your desire to encourage deep slumber and to work with your Higher Self while asleep. Focus on the nature of dreams, how they can solve problems, and ask that this energy infuse the herbs and bring out their natural magical tendencies. Add drops of essential oil and mix again. Place quartz spike in the middle of the herbs and set aside (in a bottle with a lid if you are going to wait to finish this charm). Place cloth pieces together, wrong sides out, and sew to form a pouch (use a 3/8” seam allowance), leaving on side open. Iron seams open, then reverse so pouch is right side out. Fill halfway with cotton batting. Add herb mixture and crystal, then pack with rest of cotton batting. Sew the end shut. Place this inside your pillowcase at night and, before you go to bed, focus on some thought you’d like to explore in the dream-state, then go to sleep as usual. Write down your dreams when you wake up and eventually, you should see them responding to your requests. You can recharge this pillow by adding two drops each of lavender oil, lemon oil, and rosemary oil when the fragrance starts to fade. Remember: It is up to us to solve our own problems, but we can call on the power of our Higher Self when we need help, or when we seek more information on a subject. Eventually, through focus and determination, we can enter the Dream-Time and learn to hear our inner guidance when we’re awake, not just during our sleep.

she paused to gaze into the garth where every leaf of grass and petal of flower was sparkling with crystal droplets.  The air was rich with the smell of wet earth and growing things, and Frevisse drew a deep breath, letting everything but the moment’s loveliness slip from her mind.  She had learned the value of life’s momentary beauties and to enjoy them when they came.

In the cloister walk she paused to gaze into the garth where every leaf of grass and petal of flower was sparkling with crystal droplets.  The air was rich with the smell of wet earth and growing things, and Frevisse drew a deep breath, letting everything but the moment’s loveliness slip from her mind.  She had learned the value of life’s momentary beauties and to enjoy them when they came.

On a personal level, the soulful path invites us into a profound intimacy with our own being. It is a slow and tender unfolding, like the petals of a flower opening to the sun, where we come to know ourselves in the full richness of our humanity. Here, we learn the art of presence, of dwelling fully in the now, where the past and the future lose their hold, and all that remains is the sacredness of the present moment. In this place, we find a deep well of peace, a stillness that nourishes the soul and allows us to hear the quiet voice within—a voice that speaks not in words, but in the language of the heart, guiding us gently along the path of our true nature.

Those days spent with Aero alone at his cabin were nothing short of an educational experience set to bring me to this moment. We wasted not a minute of time spent together. I’d learned a lifetime of information crammed into a single week. Everything was a game to him, or so I’d thought. The chase into the woods, being tied up and used at his mercy, being cared for afterwards as everything I’d learned during our lessons was broken down. From the flick of my wrist throwing the blades to the ability to escape his traps, here I sit, contorted into the back of this trunk, sitting on a gold mine of skills set to free us. To free him. He’d always known it’d come to this moment. The moment he’d finally let go and watch as his bud bloomed into his savage rose, bleeding nothing but strength and courage from her petals. The stem, built with the most destructive thorns of empowerment they’d ever known. A warrior arising from the soiled dirt of the institution meant to choke me dry.

Grief is a natural process. You grieve when you give attention to someone's absence from your Life. But there's another way to deal with such irreparable loss. Try celebrating that person's Life – what did they stand for, what did you learn from them, who did they love, what would they have loved for you to do?...And go celebrate all these qualities of them/in them by living your Life fully, in celebration....When you transform your grief into celebration, you come alive. You will feel the pain (of separation) but you will not suffer. And when you are not suffering, you are flowing with Life...then you are not missing the absence of someone, you are feeling their essence; their presence is felt through the essence of who they were/what they were!

When you learn to stop resisting pain, you learn the art of acceptance. And it is only through accepting what is that you learn to be happy despite your circumstances.

Just as you learn cooking, swimming or driving, you learn to be non-worrying, non-frustrated and non-suffering. These are Life skills too. Over time, through repeated practice, you gain mastery over them. And that’s how you learn to be happy despite your circumstances.

What goes down always comes up and what comes up always goes down. Such is Life. Celebrate its suchness. And keep flowing with Life. Sometimes reaping rich dividends and sometimes feeling good you have either cushioned well for a loss or learning that you could have cushioned better. Enjoy the ride!

Money is a human invention. When we work without being shackled by economic considerations, we work to the best of our abilities, we deliver High-Performance. Then we are creative and resourceful, we follow our Bliss, we are truly happy. This happens because Life wants us to be happy doing what we love doing. This does not mean money is not important. It is. But we must learn to treat money only as an important resource. And we must learn to live Life fully despite either its presence or absence. This, as we understand it, is intelligent living!

The beauty of Life is that everyone goes through their own unique, personal, process of evolution - shaped by time, their lived experiences and the manner in which they internalize learnings from these experiences. Spirituality then is an intensely personal, private, awakening process. Although the truth is one, no one size fits all. And there is no right or wrong way. All roads are headed in the same direction though.

When it comes to money, let’s learn from the ubiquitous ATM. The ATM does not print money; nor does it hoard money. It receives and dispenses money. Albeit, metaphorically, requiring a small sum for maintaining and sustaining itself. So, here’s the opportunity for each of us. Let’s realize that all the money in our life is what came our way. We are basically custodians – not owners – of our wealth. Of course, we can keep some for ourselves, to make our lives comfortable. But to make our lives meaningful, we will do well to share our wealth. So that we can touch another Life, wipe a tear and make a difference!

You have chosen again and again to disrespect the other spirits, and so I have no choice but to discipline you, Orenna. From hence onward, you will only grow in dry, heartsick ground where the water may deny you, and the wind can make you bend to its might. In order to bloom, you will have to give your life source; you will have to cut your finger on a thorn, and let your golden ichor flow like sap, down to the ground. And last of all, the mortal kind of the isle will learn your secrets by consuming your petals. This is your punishment, which may last as short as a day should you truly repent, or an eternity should your heart turn hard and cold.

When the cost of not doing something that you love doing is more than the cost of actually doing it, you make wise, informed, decisions. You then follow your bliss and learn to be happy with yourself, doing what you love doing, regardless of your circumstances or of what people think of you!

What has to happen will happen. Every lived experience teaches us to learn and evolve. Sometimes decisions we make work out well; and sometimes our choices blow up on our face. The best way to live Life is to learn, unlearn, relearn...and keep learning from every event, every decision, every choice, every person and every experience. Whether we like it or not, Life keeps on happening to us, Life keeps on flowing. And to be happy, we must keep flowing with Life…!

No matter what, Life has to be lived through. Every facet of Life has to be experienced. And pain is non-negotiable. The art of living is truly the art of co-living with pain. Doing this daily, continuously, living in a non-complaining way, you learn the art of being happy despite your circumstances.

Celebrate, respect and worship Time…because...we all rise, fall, grow, evolve, learn and unlearn through Time. We are all a product of the Time we go through. Eventually, of course, everyone and everything passes on with Time! So, Time is the greatest teacher and healer!

Ultimately, only what is to happen, happens. No amount of kicking around, resisting, fighting, fretting and fuming can change the design. So, simply, learn to understand, appreciate and accept this design. Learn to be unprovoked, undisturbed and unmoved. This is how you can be happy despite your circumstances.

Living a Life of Purpose is a great blessing. And Purpose finds you when you learn from your pain, when you resolve to take your pain and employ your lived experience to make the world better, so that another person does not have to go through what you went through. There is an act of selflessness, of service here. You see, the whole world is looking at every opportunity and constantly asking what’s in it for me; they say they want this and they want that…but those with Purpose look for ways to give, to share…they ask, how can I serve? Ultimately, only when you live purposefully, do you live a meaningful, happy Life.

My mother used to grow roses in her garden. We'd pick them together every morning." She fell silent, remembering how she'd carried on the tradition with her papa after her mother died. One by one they'd cut the flowers, each still so fresh that dew glistened on its petals and trickled down her trembling fingers. "Eight pink roses, seven white ones, and three sprigs of myrtle," she murmured, pointing at the pink and white roses in the line of bushes. "What is that?" "It's what I would always bring Mama- the same arrangement my father presented to her when he'd asked her to marry him." The story of their courtship had been her favorite, one Papa had told her over and over. She'd never tired of it, never stopped asking him to tell it to her. Before her mother had died, he'd always ended the story with a smile, saying, "Your mother is my true love." Once she was gone, his expression became solemn, shadows sinking into the lines of his brow, his teeth clenched tight to keep from grimacing. Then he would say, "Your mother was my true love." So Cinderella had learned how one word could change everything. And she had stopped asking her father for the story.

Happiness is not about having the "perfect" Life that you have always imagined and dreamed of...Happiness is, simply, learning to accept Life with its imperfections and living fully with what is!

No event or experience is ever out of sync with your Life’s design. Everything that’s happening to you is what you are meant to go through. Each experience is shaping who you are. And with time, you evolve; learning to understand Life just a wee bit better. So, don’t resist what you are going through. Have Faith in Life. Be Patient. Faith is not about being ritualistic or religious; it is simply trusting the process of Life, going with the flow no matter what you are faced with. And Patience is not some “difficult-to-practice virtue”. It is being calm, being non-frustrated when you don’t get what you want, while knowing that Life always gives you only what you need.

Life is intrinsically impermanent. Over time, everything – and everyone – you know will change and, eventually, will be gone. When you understand this truth about Life, you will learn to live in a ‘let go’! This is what intelligent living is all about. It is only through living in a ‘let go’ that you are happy – because only then you are celebrating what is and are not imprisoned by what was or are fearful of what will be.

People think because flowers are small and pretty, that they’re delicate. But as rain beats and pours on them, these flowers open their petals and embrace it. There’s a lot we can learn from that.

Don’t give anyone else the responsibility of your Life. If you do, then don’t complain about being unhappy. Not that you will not face upheavals and challenges if you own the responsibility for your actions and choices. You sure will. But at least you may have well made those decisions based on what you thought would make you happy. So, you certainly can’t complain. When you learn to be non-complaining, despite the circumstances, you eventually end up being happy!

Yes, only when you embrace you fears, when you accept them, do you learn to face them, and that’s how you turn fearless. Happiness is living Life fearlessly, dangerously!

The skills she has chosen to hone are presentation and charm! Having traveled around the world experiencing so many cultures... she's learned that, at times, it's necessary to change up a dish's presentation... so that, for example, those not accustomed to cuisine such as Japanese... ... will still recognize its deliciousness by its presentation. "There." "Wooow! In a matter of seconds, that entire juicy tenderloin roast... ... has been transformed into a lovely, giant peony blossom! How beautiful! The gleam of the meat is like dew on petals... ... boosting the attractiveness of the dish two- no, threefold!" It's a refined expression of Megumi Tadokoro's hospitality. Her dishes will shine in the spotlight of this year's BLUE, I'm sure.

Yes, only when you embrace your fears, when you accept them, do you learn to face them, and that’s how you turn fearless. Happiness is living Life fearlessly, dangerously!

When you are coping with a challenging phase in Life, try this approach. Do all that you possibly, and practically, can in the given context, even if you don’t like doing such stuff. And then pour your heart into your art, into whatever you love doing. Do this daily. Soon, you will train your mind to go with the flow. That’s really how you learn to go with the flow. One day at a time, slowly, surely…

Happiness is not quite about always getting what you want, or about buying stuff which you can afford, or even about being understood, recognized and celebrated by those around you. There will always be times in Life when you won’t get what you want, when you can’t even afford what you think are the basics and when you will imagine that the whole world is conspiring against you. Happiness is a decision. It is your decision. When you decide to be happy, the circumstances don’t matter. Happiness, then, is to be accepting of the Life you have, while celebrating it for what it is, and learning to be non-worrying, non-frustrated and non-suffering.

With this life,” Petal told her, “may you learn to love friendship and loyalty above all things.

There are three parts to your Life at any given moment. 1. The part where a complex problem situation is either totally or immediately unsolvable; so, over time, you intuitively learn to isolate this part while still dealing with it. 2. The part where all the existential drama happens – everyday grief, anxieties, stresses, suffering, worries, frustrations…stuff, often linked to the first part, that continuously keeps puncturing your happy state. 3. The center – your center. This is where you are in sync with the Universe’s, divine, energy; this center is your deeply personal oasis of happiness. Just as there’s complete calm at the epicentre of a cyclone, there is absolute stillness within you. You must find that stillness, that silence, you must find your center. Only then will you be unmoved by the other two parts of your Life. It’s from your center that your art flows and that’s where your Happiness lies!