Books

Psychology (Depth Focus)

Beginner’s Guide to Jungian Psychology
The Symbolic Quest
Jungs Map of the Soul
Women Who Run with Wolves
The Heroines Journey
Eastern Body Western Mind
It's Not Always Depression: Working the Change Triangle to Listen to the Body, Discover Core Emotions, and Connect to Your Authentic Self

Trauma

Trauma and the Body
Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors
The Body Remembers
The Body Keeps the Score
Nurturing Resilience: Helping Clients Move Forward from Developmental Trauma--An Integrative Somatic Approach
Call of the Wild

Spirituality

A Light on Life
A Path with Heart
The Secret Power of Yoga
Yoga of the Subtle Body
The Practice is the Path
Bringing Yoga to Life

Embodiment and dance

Dancing with Dharma
Sweat your Prayers
Maps to Ecstasy
Emptiness Dancing

Buddhism

The Book of Awakening
Awakening the Buddha Within
Toward a Psychology of Awakening

Compassion

Radical Acceptance
Radical Compassion
The Mindful Self Compassion Workbook

Grief

The Wild Edge of Sorrow
The Smell of Rain on Dust
The Five Invitations
On Grief and Grieving

Meditations

Tara Brach

Podcasts

This Jungian Life
On Being

Poems

i have been a thousand different women //

Emory Hall

make peace
with all the women
you once were.

lay flowers
at their feet.

offer them incense
and honey
and forgiveness.

honor them
and give them
your silence.

listen.

bless them
and let them be.

for they are the bones
of the temple
you sit in now.

for they are
the rivers
of wisdom
leading you toward
the sea.

Wild Geese

Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting — over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Because

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

So I can’t save the world—
can’t save even myself,
can’t wrap my arms around
every frightened child, can’t
foster peace among nations,
can’t bring love to all who
feel unlovable.
So I practice opening my heart
right here in this room and being gentle
with my insufficiency. I practice
walking down the street heart first.
And if it is insufficient to share love,
I will practice loving anyway.
I want to converse about truth,
about trust. I want to invite compassion
into every interaction.
One willing heart can’t stop a war.
One willing heart can’t feed all the hungry.
And sometimes, daunted by a task too big,
I tell myself what’s the use of trying?
But today, the invitation is clear:
to be ridiculously courageous in love.
To open the heart like a lilac in May,
knowing freeze is possible
and opening anyway.
To take love seriously.
To give love wildly.
To race up to the world
as if I were a puppy,
adoring and unjaded,
stumbling on my own exuberance.
To feel the shock of indifference,
of anger, of cruelty, of fear,
and stay open. To love as if it matters,
as if the world depends on it.

The Facts of Life

BY PÁDRAIG Ó TUAMA

That you were born
and you will die.

That you will sometimes love enough
and sometimes not.

That you will lie
if only to yourself.

That you will get tired.

That you will learn most from the situations
you did not choose.

That there will be some things that move you
more than you can say.

That you will live
that you must be loved.

That you will avoid questions most urgently in need of
your attention.

That you began as the fusion of a sperm and an egg
of two people who once were strangers
and may well still be.

That life isn’t fair.
That life is sometimes good
and sometimes better than good.

That life is often not so good.

That life is real
and if you can survive it, well,
survive it well
with love
and art
and meaning given
where meaning’s scarce.

That you will learn to live with regret.
That you will learn to live with respect.

That the structures that constrict you
may not be permanently constraining.

That you will probably be okay.

That you must accept change
before you die
but you will die anyway.

So you might as well live
and you might as well love.
You might as well love.
You might as well love.

Enough by Danna Faulds

It’s enough to offer love no matter how imperfectly received or given

It’s enough to try and fail at a difficult task; enough to fall and rise, stumble, fall again, sigh, and start to walk, however slowly, in the direction the soul points.

It’s enough to seek peace and find pain, to gain nothing but a vision of truth, and take the long route home.

It’s enough to feel temptation, the dance of the senses, the hot pull of desire; enough to call on God, walk through fire, sleep and cry and fear or welcome dying.

It’s enough to be and breathe, to feel the touch of wind on skin.

It’s enough to take the day as it comes, to watch the ripples on the lake as the rock sinks to the bottom, to see the wild reflection of the surface calm into a mirror once again.

It’s enough to hear the voice of fear and hide – or seek it out and face the shame or shadows.

It’s enough to set out to tame demons and watch them multiply instead.

It’s enough to be buffeted by the winds of change and not blown over.

I and you and all of us, more than enough.

THE EDGE YOU CARRY WITH YOU by David Whyte

You know
so very well
the edge
of darkness
you have
always
carried with you.

You know
so very well,
your childhood legacy:

that particular,
inherited
sense of hurt,
given to you
so freely
by the world
you entered.

And you know
too well
by now

the body’s
hesitation
at the invitation
to undo
everything
others seemed
to want to
make you learn.

But your edge
of darkness
has always
made
its own definition
secretly
as an edge of light

and the door
you closed
might,
by its very nature
be
one just waiting
to be leant against
and opened.

And happiness
might just
be a single step away,
on the other side
of that next
unhelpful
and undeserving
thought.

Your way home,
understood now,
not as an achievement,
but as a giving up,
a blessed undoing,
an arrival
in the body
and a full rest
in the give
and take
of the breath.

This living
breathing body
always waiting
to greet you
at the door,
always prepared
to give you
the rest you need,
always,
no matter
the long
years away,
still
wanting you,
to come home.

All the Hemispheres, Hafiz

Leave the familiar for a while.
Let your senses and bodies stretch out

Like a welcomed season
Onto the meadows and shores and hills.

Open up to the Roof.
Make a new water-mark on your excitement
And love.

Like a blooming night flower,
Bestow your vital fragrance of happiness
And giving
Upon our intimate assembly.

Change rooms in your mind for a day.

All the hemispheres in existence
Lie beside an equator
In your heart.

Greet Yourself
In your thousand other forms
As you mount the hidden tide and travel
Back home.

All the hemispheres in heaven
Are sitting around a fire
Chatting

While stitching themselves together
Into the Great Circle inside of
You.

The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.

I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ‘Yes.’

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Rumi

Don't Go Back To Sleep

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.

Don't go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.