Fear plays this little trick—it dresses itself up to look like what it isn’t. Parsimony. Protection. Prudence. Planning. Precaution.
Worry—that’s not fear, is it? Just looking at things from every possible angle, right?
If we could see worry for what it is, we would never worry again.
Old pain is buried pain—pain we haven’t dealt with. When the hurt happened, we didn’t know what to do, so we put it in the basement. It howls and rages down there. All it wants is the lights on, clear seeing, our thoughtless attention, the silent fortitude of love.
In order for me to see a fault, I must have the fault. I announce my own defect by pointing out its existence in someone else.
Clear seeing is sight cleansed of judgement.
A couple of millennia ago, a man had a revelation so powerful that it knocked him off his mount. Despite the temporary loss of his sight, he saw with perfect clarity that it is every man’s destiny to be a saint.
Men's Work 