Daily Meditation Recordings, with Nirmala Werner – Week of 23 February, 2026

The heat of the fire

February 23, 2026

The spell of wanting

February 24, 2026

Coming home through longing

February 25, 2026

Longing for intimacy

February 26, 2026

A poem read by Nirmala:

Consent (from Giannina Wedde-translated by Nirmala)

Comfort asked me
whether I am willing
to go through the pain
instead of circling around it,

and whether I would keep my finger
in the wound
until I can feel
what in it is unbroken.

It asked me
whether I will allow myself to be held
by arms that will never
make anything right again,

and whether I can remain silent
until, at some point,
like a warm breath,
a good word brushes against me.

It asked me
whether I will bend down
to a small blue flower by the roadside,

whether I will pick cherries
from the highest branches,

and whether I can endure it
when in the evening
a happiness without reason
comes over me.

It asked me
whether I sense
that I am entitled to nothing—

not even to unsoothed grieve—

because in every single moment
life itself is giving itself to me,
without hesitation
and without measure.

Like someone
who still has to grow
into the vastness of this word,
I said yes.

Love growing from within

February 27, 2026

A poem shared by Nirmala today

“With regard to any such disquisition, review or introduction, trust yourself and your instincts; even if you go wrong in your judgement, the natural growth of your inner life will gradually, over time, lead you to other insights. Allow your verdicts their own quiet untroubled development which like all progress must come from deep within and cannot be forced or accelerated. Everything must be carried to term before it is born. To let every impression and the germ of every feeling come to completion inside, in the dark, in the unsayable, the unconscious, in what is unattainable to one’s own intellect, and to wait with deep humility and patience for the hour when a “new clarity is delivered: that alone is to live as an artist, in the understanding and in one’s creative work.
These things cannot be measured by time, a year has no meaning, and ten years are nothing. To be an artist means: not to calculate and count; to grow and ripen like a tree which does not hurry the flow of its sap and stands at ease in the spring gales without fearing that no summer may follow. It will come. But it comes only to those who are patient, who are simply there in their vast, quiet tranquillity, as if eternity lay before them. It is a lesson I learn every day amid hardships I am thankful for: patience is all!”

―Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet