A Quote by Rachel Naomi Remen

A shaman is someone who has a wound that will not heal. He sits by the side of the road with his open wound exposed. — © Rachel Naomi Remen
A shaman is someone who has a wound that will not heal. He sits by the side of the road with his open wound exposed.
The wound that's made by fire will heal, But the wound that's made by tongue will never heal.
The less the head, the more the wound will heal. No head there is no wound. Live a headless life. Move as a total being, and accept things.
When we scratch the wound and give into our addictions we do not allow the wound to heal.
A wound that goes unacknowledged and unwept is a wound that cannot heal.
The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal - every other affliction to forget: but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open - this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude.
Every boy, in his journey to become a man, takes an arrow in the center of his heart, in the place of his strength. Because the wound is rarely discussed and even more rarely healed, every man carries a wound. And the wound is nearly always given by his father.
Grief will happen either as an open healing wound or a closed festering wound, either honestly or dishonestly, either appropriately or inappropriately. But emotions will be expressed.
Close thine ear against him that shall open his mouth secretly against another. If thou receivest not his words, they fly back and wound the reporter. If thou dost receive them, they fly forward and wound the receiver.
Does the open wound in another's breast soften the pain of the gaping wound in our own? Or does the blood which is welling from another man's side staunch that which is pouring from our own? Does the general anguish of our fellow creatures lessen our own private and particular anguish? No, no, each suffers on his own account, each struggles with his own grief, each sheds his own tears.
Language is a window into human nature, but it is also a fistula, an open wound through which we're exposed to an infectious world.
It's a successful feeling when someone tells you that you were instrumental in helping them heal from a great wound in their life.
For a wound to heal, you have to clean it out. Again, and again, and again. And this cleaning process stings. The cleaning of a wound hurts. Yes. Healing takes so much work. So much persistence. And so much patience. But every process has an end and an appointed term. Your healing will come... And like all created things, your worldly pain will die.
A wound in the soul, coming from the rending of the spiritual body, strange as it may seem, gradually closes like a physical wound. And once a deep wound heals over and the edges seem to have knit, a wound in the soul, like a physical wound, can be healed only by the force of life pushing up from inside. This was the way Natasha's wound healed. She thought her life was over. But suddenly her love for her mother showed her that the essence of life - love - was still alive in her. Love awoke, and life awoke.
Pride is a wound and vanity is the scab on it. One's life picks at the scab to open that wound again and again. Among men it seldom heals and often grows septic.
It's a battered old suitcase and a hotel someplace and a wound that will never heal.
It will take 150 years or seven generations to heal the wound of the residential school.
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