Ingrid Collins
Profile
- Name
- Ingrid Collins
- Age
- 64
- City
- London
- Country
- United Kingdom
- Joined
- Dec 2007
Consultant Psychologist and Registered Spiritual Healer at The London Medical Centre In Harley Street, London, UK. Member of The Media Panel of The British Psychological Society. President of the Soul Therapy Association of Spiritual Healers. Co-Director of The Soul Therapy Centre. Consultants’ Representative on the Executive Committee of The UK Feng Shui Society. Member of The Parliamentary Group for Integrated and Complementary Healthcare. Author of “A Year Of Spirituality”, publ MQP & in USA by Andrews McMeel. Journalist on Here’s Health Magazine, prizewinning poet.
Married for 34 years to Nick and still in love.
Groups
Ingrid Collins is a member of All Things Poetic, Prose, Philosophical., Challenge Café, For the Love of Cats, Gaia - The Living Planet, Greek and Roman Mythology, Happy Haven, Humour Captured, In the Moment, Love & Romance , Passions, Petshop CS2, Spiritual Art, The Eyes Have It, United Kingdom and Writers' Market.
Journal Entries
Morning.
Posted 8 months ago.
A Passion For Perfume
Posted 8 months ago.
Villanelle: How time flies.
Posted 8 months ago, 1 comment so far.
Anticipation
Posted 8 months ago.
Art
Writing
Grown Up Nursery Rhyme
What care I, in knickers of red? / I’ll give him breakfast tea in bed. / Hibble hobble hibble, hibbledie head.
Sonnet: Beyond, Behind, Before, Above.
Behind manifestation there are strewn / Existence-cosmic templates, intertwined / Pattern on pattern, potential lives on lives, / Precursors sacred in Immortal Plan.
Rondeau: My Husband's Eyes
In my husband’s dark brown eyes / Laughter, love, and joy arise. / He is my companion, hero, / Warmth, when the temperature is zero. / He’s compassionate, strong and wise.
Statue Of The Seated Buddha
In the central / Oriental Collections room / I found him. Golden, serene, / Long fingered hands resting upon his lap; / Eyes, huge, reflecting the Cosmos; / Eyes, focused on infinity. / Oh, his eyes!…
Sonnet: Eternal Sparrow
“She loved him more than her own eyes,” quoth he, / “For he was gentle.” Furthermore he told / Of their affection pure that held the key / To sacred love, precious to her as gold.
Translation from a Latin poem.
Now, from beneath a rock, the sound / Of a swiftly flowing river, / Tributary of Lethe, ever / Bringing sweet forgetfulness / In dreams. Oblivion’s caress!
