Sacred Stories is your invitation to again be enchanted by stories. Every story told here is true, although some may seem almost unbelievable.
~Angeles Arrien, cross-cultural anthropologist
“Often when you would go to a shaman or a holy person or a medicine person in traditional people’s, they’ll ask you, and you say that you’re disheartened or dispirited or depressed, they’ll say, ‘When did you stop singing? When did you stop dancing? Or moving in your body? When did you stop being enchanted by stories? And particularly by your own life story? And when did you stop being comforted by the sweet territory of silence?’ “
The idea of this page grew out of a workshop with Dr. Mary Jo Bulbrook as she kept saying to a group of individuals loosely called healers: “You need to find a way to write these stories.” But these stories happen in relationships governed by laws that protect privacy of patients or clients. It became obvious we could create a large bulletin board upon which to write, thus protecting persons’ identity while telling what needs to be told.
You may email email@example.com to submit your sacred stories for consideration. As we honor our experiences—especially those that do not fit neatly into our logical structure of thinking—you let the soft animal of your body relax into a larger meaning of life.
Her meditation group was reading from Pay Attention, for Goodness’ Sake: The Buddhist Path of Kindness, by Sylvia Boorstein. Sylvia’s detailed description of doing “metta” following the formal meditation sitting was powerful. One member of the group said, “Let’s not talk about it, let’s do it!”
You simply say the name of a person who is on your heart and mind, explaining some of the circumstances while holding the Buddhist intention: May all beings come to the end of suffering.
Someone began. Others added in. She shared about her brother-in-law, experiencing leukemia. So much pain and suffering in the world. She shared about her former counselor, having just been placed on hospice care.
The room grew silent, then the bell rang once inviting the group into the second sitting of the evening.
In the tradition of her practice, you focus on your breath and when a thought comes you simply recognize it as thinking. If something other than the breath catches the attention, that then becomes the object of focus.
The words inside her head began….
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
The words continued….
He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters.
She knew she did not know these verses, although she recognized them as the 23rd Psalm.
He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.
“It is my soul being restored,” she realized as she listened.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil;
for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
She was being comforted.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup runs over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
The bell rang three times signaling the end of the formal sitting.
As announcements and sharing began, she tried to say the words again silently to herself. She knew the truth. She did not know those verses…. She had not been reciting that eternal promise, she had been hearing it whispered to her aching heart at a time she really needed it.