A Quote by Roger Housden

When the heart opens, we forget ourselves and the world pours in. — © Roger Housden
When the heart opens, we forget ourselves and the world pours in.

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When the heart opens, we forget ourselves and the world pours in: this world, and also the invisible world of meaning that sustains everything that was and ever shall be.
When we play, we sense no limitations. In fact, when we are playing, we are usually unaware of ourselves. Self-observation goes out the window. We forget all those past lessons of life, forget our potential foolishness, forget ourselves. We immerse ourselves in the act of play. And we become free.
The human heart, at whatever age, opens only to the heart that opens in return.
Where we belong is often where we least expect to find ourselves—a place that we may have willed ourselves to forget, but that the heart remembers forever.
The human heart, at whatever age, opens to the heart that opens in return.
It is unjust and absurd of those advancing in years, to expect of the young that confidence should come all and only on their side: the human heart, at whatever age, opens only to the heart that opens in return.
Art gives to you a new conception of reality, opens your mind, opens your heart, opens your desire of action.
We are most blessed when we see ourselves as we are seen by [the Savior] and know ourselves as we are known by Him. In this world, we do not really grasp who we are until we know whose we are. The Lord says, 'I will not forget you. I have graven you on the palms of my hands' (see Isaiah 49:15-16). He will never forget us nor our real identity. [And, neither should we ever] forget whose we are. We are His.
Laughter opens your heart and soothes your soul. No one should ever take life so seriously that they forget to laugh at themselves.
There is not much talking now. A silence falls upon them all. This is no time to talk of hedges and fields, or the beauties of any country. Sadness and fear and hate, how they well up in the heart and mind, whenever one opens pages of these messengers of doom. Cry for the broken tribe, for the law and the custom that is gone. Aye, and cry aloud for the man who is dead, for the woman and children bereaved. Cry, the beloved country, these things are not yet at an end. The sun pours down on the earth, on the lovely land that man cannot enjoy. He knows only the fear of his heart.
Grant that I have enough suffering that my heart really opens to the great compassion of this world, that I be given enough so that I don't wall myself off from the world, that it breaks down the heart and the separation and the ego and the fear, and it lets me touch the nectar, the milk of kindness itself, of something greater.
How it pours, pours, pours, In a never-ending sheet! How it drives beneath the doors! How it soaks the passer's feet! How it rattles on the shutter! How it rumples up the lawn! How 'twill sigh, and moan, and mutter, From darkness until dawn.
To celebrate the heart of Christmas is to forget ourselves in the service of others.
The internal dialogue is what grounds people in the daily world. The world is such and such or so and so, only because we talk to ourselves about its being such and such and so and so. The passageway into the world of shamans opens up after the warrior has learned to shut off his internal dialogue
Sometimes life is very mean: a person can spend days, weeks, months and years without feeling new. Then, when a door opens - a positive avalanche pours in. One moment, you have nothing, the next, you have more than you can cope with.
In wishing to know ourselves fully, we must forget our quest for gain and seek only completion. At a certain point in our development, we no longer even seek to become Mystic, Magister, Sorcerer, or Witch: we seek only our own perfection in the wholeness of our Will, in the joining of light with dark and strength with love. We are varied and gorgeous yet pure of heart. Our aim is this: to know ourselves and to know the world.
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