Time Is Where Eternity Unfolds

The writer goes to his desk each morning to meet the empty white page. As he settles himself, he is preparing for visitation and voyage. His memory, longing and craft set the frame for what might emerge. He has no idea what will come. Yet despite his limitations, his creative work will find its own direction to form. Each of us is an artist of our days; the greater our integrity and awareness, the more original and creative our time will become.

from, Benedictus/To Bless The Space Between Us

Thank you for sharing your thoughts about John and what his life and work have sparked for you.

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Inner Landscapes

I am deeply grateful for the profound impact John’s writings have made on my life. Through his writing, John is very much alive. John talked a lot about interiority and landscapes. I liken John to a very tall monument with outstretched arms. I sense the warmth of his being, like a lighthouse on a craggy [… read more]

For You, John O’Donohue

For You, John O’Donohue With the nimble hand of your words you have pared my sadness like a fruit and served back to me a sweetness hidden I want not to mourn the words you didn’t write but to perpetuate the teeming tides of your wisdom I want the waters of your words to rain [… read more]

John O’Donohue, my Guardian Angel

I first refused a kind offer to read “Anam Cara” and it was only through the grace of a NPR radio show that I learned about John and heard his wonderful voice. Although I cannot prove it in conventional ways, I deeply believe he is my Guardian Angel. When I open “To Bless the Space [… read more]

Commentary on Beannacht

I sit with students living through the nightmare of consistently failing at this process we call school. They find little solace for their wounds. They’ve settled into a pattern of disenchantment created for them by others. I sit with them and work to convince them otherwise. I share with them a geography of possibility and [… read more]

Let Beauty Surprise You

It was April 2006 and I spent a week in the south of Crete, in the hidden village of Agia  Roumeli, the place where the famous Samaria gorge ends and meets the typical black Cretan sea shores. I had brought some books with me amongst which John’s ‘Beauty, the invisible embrace’. Because of a fashion [… read more]

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