" To liberate the human spirit we must embrace heightened consciousness and enhance the flow of positive energy. We are beings of light and energy , once we accept this truth our soul can soar with the angels."
"Sometimes miracles can be very small indeed. Sometimes as small as a pretty pin inside a broken box."
Marley Rides
"I'm not a man who constantly thinks up jokes. But I think it's very important to be able to see the funny side of life and its joyful dimension and not to take everything too tragically. I'd also say it's necessary for my ministry. A writer once said that angels can fly because they don't take themselves too seriously. Maybe we could also fly a bit if we didn't think we were so important."
At every instant and from every side, resounds the call of Love:
We are going to sky, who wants to come with us?
We have gone to Heaven, we have been the friends of the angels,
And now we will go back there, for there is our country.
I think it's one of the scars in our culture that we have too high an opinion of ourselves. We align ourselves with the angels instead of the higher primates.
When I accepted that there was at least one Angel or Helper always with me, life became like a constant magic experience, I could do anything
Everyone is an Angel in training
Life is a school for angels. Love is the Teacher, so do your homework without fear. Death is merely graduation.
--Jeffrey Kuehl, Starbucks customer from Wilmette, Illinois
Jesus was an alien magician.
There are mental demons we fight and mental angels that we all carry around; it’s how we deal with them that will determine if we can finish this thing called the Ironman, this thing called life.
Angels and crows passed each other, one leaving, the other coming.
The greatest achievement was at first and for a time a dream. The oak sleeps in the acorn; the bird waits in the egg; and in the highest vision of the soul a waking angel stirs. Dreams are the seedlings of realities.
The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
'Tis strange what a man may do, and a woman yet think him an angel.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by it? Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! Serve the king; And,-prithee, lead me in: There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat; Of habits devil, is angel yet in this.
Man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, As make the angels weep.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me: no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii: Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through: See what a rent the envious Casca made: Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it, As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no; For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's Statua, Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell, O! what a fall was there, my countrymen; Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. O! now you weep, and I perceive you feel The dint of pity; these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. . . . . Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honourable: What private griefs they have, alas! I know not, That made them do it; they are wise and honourable, And will no doubts with reason answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts: I am no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend. . . . . For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action , nor utterance, nor power of speech, To stir men's blood; I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know.
Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
When one that holds communion with the skies Has fill'd his urn where these pure waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'T is e'en as if an angel shook his wings.
The Angel that presided o'er my birth Said 'Little creature, form'd of joy and mirth, Go, love without the help of anything on earth.'
I asked a thief to steal me a peach: He turned up his eyes. I asked a lithe lady to lie her down: Holy and meek, she cries. As soon as I went An angel came. He winked at the thief And smiled at the dame- And without one word spoke Had a peach from the tree, And 'twixt earnest and joke Enjoyed the lady.
I intend to die in a tavern; let the wine be placed near my dying mouth, so that when the choirs of angels come, they may say, "God be merciful to this drinker!"
For the first time in my life, I was able to understand the words, "The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory."
A wayfarer carried a heavy sack about which he complained unceasingly. From none could he get help or comfort. And as he slowly journeyed, groaning under his burden, the Angel of Optimism came to him and spoke kindly, saying: "Brother, what does thou carry?" The man answered surlily, "My worries." The angel smiled pityingly upon him and said, "Let us look into thy burden and examine thy worries." And so they looked in. But lo! the sack was empty. "Why surely," cried the man, "there were two great worries, too heavy for man to bear. But-ah, yes, I had forgot-one was a worry of yesterday, and so it is gone." "And the other?" "That-why, that was a worry of tomorrow, and it-it has not yet come." Then the angel smiled with infinite pity, saying: "Hearken! He who bows himself down under the worries of yesterday and tomorrow wears himself out for naught. But he who carries only the worries of today has no need of a sack for his sorrows. If thou will cast this black thing aside, and give all thy strength and cheer and courage to the things of today, real misfortune never can burden thee." Wondering, the man did as the angel commanded. And as he took up his journey and went lightly, swiftly on, his heart and his hands were free to relieve many a brother wayfarer of his burden and to pluck sweet fruits and flowers along the wayside. And when he came at last to the setting of the sun it was with smiles and a song.
I dreamed death came the other night And Heaven's gate swung wide. A glorious angel soon appeared And ushered me inside. And there to my astonishment Were folks I'd known on earth. Some I'd judged and found unfit And some of little worth. Indignant words rose to my lips But never were set free For every face showed stunned surprise Not one expected me.
I dreamt of heaven the other night, and the pearly gates swung wide. An angel with halo bright, ushered me inside. And there to my astonishment, stood folks I'd judged & labeled as quite "unfit," of "little worth," and "spiritually disabled." Indignant words rose to my lips, but NEVER were set free, for EVERY face showed stunned surprise, not ONE expected Me!
Reputation is seeming; character is being. Reputation is manufactured; character is grown. Reputation is your photograph; Character is your face. Reputation is what men say your are; character is what God knows you are. Reputation is what you need to get a job; character is what you need to keep it. Reputation is what comes over you from without; character is what rises up within. Reputation is what you have when you come to town; character is what you have when you go away. Reputation is what is chiseled on your tombstone; character is what the angels say about you before the throne of God.
