Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the snow on the mountain's rim,
I am the laughter in children's eyes,
I am the sand at the water's edge,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle Autumn rain,
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the star that shines at night,
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die.
Mary Elizabeth Frye
In this fashion we learn the
and the strength of
We learn to go into the world
as still as a mouse
in the depths of our hearts.
Meditations with Mechtild of
By Sue Woodraff, 1982