Tag: Leonard Cohen

Quote of the Day – 11022025

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Personal Reflection

Cohen understood something most people spend a lifetime avoiding — that joy and sorrow aren’t opposites, they’re partners in the same waltz. The beauty that moves us to tears is the same beauty that reminds us we’re temporary. The song doesn’t ask for your permission to feel; it simply reaches into the softest part of you and starts to play what’s already there.

We chase peace as if it means never aching again, but music teaches a different kind of peace — the kind that coexists with longing. You can close your eyes and still see everything you’ve lost, still feel the echoes of what once mattered. But in that ache, something holy hums. It’s the reminder that sorrow isn’t a wound to be healed; it’s a place the light passes through.

There’s a moment — quiet, heavy, sacred — when the melody hits something you didn’t know was waiting. Maybe that’s the soul recognizing itself. Maybe that’s what Cohen meant when he said the spirit soared. Not upward, but inward — toward the place where pain and beauty stop competing and begin to hold hands.

That’s what music does. It doesn’t cure the ache; it makes it sing.

Reflective Prompt

What song still finds the version of you you thought had disappeared?
When was the last time you let the melody hurt — and thanked it for remembering you?

Quote of the Day – 09052025

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Personal Reflection:
Perfection is a ghost I’ve chased too long. It never shows up, never pays rent, just haunts every move with the whisper that what I’ve got isn’t enough. I’ve broken myself trying to silence that voice. But cracks don’t mean ruin—they mean survival. They mean you’re still standing after the hit. Let the cracks show. Let the light leak through. Better to ring a fractured bell than die clutching silence in your hands.

Reflective Prompt:
What ghosts of perfection are you still chasing, and what would happen if you let the cracks speak instead?

Quote of the Day – 08192025

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Personal Reflection
Perfection is the biggest lie we chase. It’s like the legends we were told as children—the fairytales and bedtime stories we believed wholeheartedly as we drifted to sleep. We believed in magic back then. But as we age, that belief fades, and in its place the idea of perfection takes root and grows. I’ve wasted years sanding down my rough edges, trying to fit into some polished shape that never really belonged to me. But the cracks—those breaks and scars I tried so hard to hide—turned out to be the places where something honest finally came through. Light doesn’t care about flawless surfaces. It needs openings, even the jagged ones, to break through.

Reflective Prompt
What’s one “crack” in your life you once hid in shame, but now see as the source of strength or beauty?

Quote of the Day – 07122025

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Reflection:

I patched everything to hide the flaws, convinced that if I could just keep the cracks out of sight, I could pass for whole. But perfection is a myth we whisper to ourselves in the dark—an illusion dressed up as safety. And all the while, the pressure built behind the seams—
quietly, until it didn’t.
Unknown to me, I was barely alive.

It didn’t shatter all at once. It was smaller than that—a moment so quiet I almost missed it. A memory I hadn’t invited. A scent that stopped me mid-breath. A sound that didn’t belong. And suddenly, something gave. The façade I had built so carefully—out of control, compliance, and silence—cracked just enough for something else to slip in. Not healing. Not grace. Just… light. Faint, flickering, uninvited.

The light didn’t fix me. It didn’t stitch the broken parts or erase the wreckage. What it did was make everything visible. Every compromise I made to keep the peace. Every silence I swallowed to be acceptable. Every version of myself I abandoned just to be tolerated. It was all still there—ugly, unfinished, honest.
And for the first time, I was alive. I was real.