Posted 14 hours ago

I was talking to him (a trapeze artist, a flyer) and he said, ‘Henri, everyone is always applauding me because I make these spectacular triples. But the real hero is the one that is not so much applauded. That’s the catcher. The catcher is on a catch bar that moves… The greatest temptation for me as a flyer is to try to catch the catcher. Because the catcher will be there. I have to trust that. When I come down from my triple I have to stretch out my hands, and whether I am here, or there, or here, or there, I have to trust that he will be there. And he will pull me right up into the cupola. That’s what I have to trust. If I start reaching around, then we break our wrists and then we are in trouble.’

And I suddenly realized what life is all about. We are invited to make a lot of triples and jumps. But the great thing is to trust the catcher and to know we will be caught when we come down from our triples, and our doubles, and our special tricks. Somewhere, I keep asking myself, ‘do I trust the Catcher?’ Do I dare to say, ‘into your hands I commend my spirit,’ do I dare to let go - to say that it will happen even when I am so scared at times?

I enjoy flying. I enjoy taking risks, doing awesome things. But somewhere underneath all of that there is this trust that there is a Catcher.

Henri Nouwen (via kulolo)
Posted 14 hours ago

The Untouchables - well worth watching

Posted 4 days ago

Social Intelligence and Leadership (by HarvardBusiness)

Posted 1 week ago

llbwwb:

Stunning Spike ! (by wendysalisbury)

Posted 1 week ago

colourthysoul:

Albert Bierstadt - Cloudy Study, Moonlight (ca. 1860)

Posted 1 week ago
Posted 1 week ago
Posted 1 week ago

The Road Not Taken


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.” 
― Robert Frost

Posted 2 weeks ago

Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

Posted 2 weeks ago