Susan Minarik – Page 114 – Notes from the Woods

While Waiting for Springtime

I was walking across a familiar section of the park, looking at the frosty ground, when the thought came to me that violets and spring beauties were sleeping there. I will not despair, I said to myself.

The mere thought of spring, with its wild-flower covered grasses, lifted me above the moment’s turmoil and darkness. Life renews itself.

It’s easy to get lost life’s troubles. They’re like a quicksand that pulls us in until all we can see is an endless landscape of confusion, misery and suffering. Thought narrows when we’re stuck in our fears, apprehensions and pain. It’s designed to work that way, allowing us to focus on the details so we can puzzle our way out.

But it’s good to remember that while pain is inescapable, suffering is not. Even while in the pain’s grip, we are free to see beyond it. We can direct our attention elsewhere. We can call forth golden memories; we can plan, and imagine, and dream. And when we do, light comes, and our consciousness expands and is free.

We create the world we live in. We may not create its events, but we choose how we will respond to them, and how we will shape them in our minds. When we find ourselves in troubling circumstances, or when events occur that shock or repel us, it’s wise to ask ourselves, “Who do I want to be in the face of this?”

Ask that, and allow your higher self to whisper its answers. Then act on them. Adopt the posture they require. Act the part. Call on your wealth of capabilities.

We live in worlds of limitless possibilities. Our options are always more than we suspect, and often they’re only an idea away. Ask for answers. Allow them to come. Sometimes all it takes to trigger one is a different point of view, a change of attitude or of scenery, whether real or imagined. Sometimes all it takes is to put a smile on your face.

Even in the darkest times, you still have breath and a beating heart. And darkness always has an end. While you wait for it, decide who you will be. Decide what you can do in the midst of it, and how you would like, someday in the future, to look back on these times and the choices that you made.

Beneath the hard and frozen ground on which we walk, flowers sleep. Life renews itself. Spring will come. Imagine that! And taste its hope and joy.

Warmly,
Susan

Never Stop Believing

Never stop believing. . .
in miracles
in your hunches, intuition and dreams
in your ability to make a positive difference
in your ability to reach, and learn, and grow
in your capacity to have fun
in the power of your touch, your words, your smile
in the magic of laughter
in the generosity of others
in the power of your imagination
in your own essential goodness
in the highest, truest, most powerful, loving, and beautiful consciousness you can imagine,
and in your everlasting connection to it.

Never stop believing . . .
that you are lucky
that today is a beautiful day
that truth is power
that attitude is everything
that you are creative and inventive
that you matter
that now matters
that you matter right now
that it’s okay to be human
that you learn from every mistake
that good overcomes evil
that light overcomes the dark
that the person in the mirror is a mere reflection
that you’re free to change your mind
that you can tune in to a higher wisdom
that you are getting better all the time
that love is the answer
that blessings never cease

Never stop believing . . .

Happy New Year, Friends,
Warmly,
Susan

_{Image by sabri ismail from Pixabay}

Here It Comes!

You ready? This is it, you know. The Big Reveal, 2021, comin’ right up. Hang on!

It’s going to be glorious, they say. Biblical even.
The Bethlehem star clinched it for me.
Bring it on!

So here we are, already rolling through earthquakes and tidal waves of energy, my friends.

And this is only the beginning.
We’re just at the start of this ride,
This cosmic roller coaster, as I mentioned before.

What’s that? A voice speaks in my head:
“The kaleidoscopic, multilingual, transcendental. two-ton mustard seed,” it says in a calm, smiling tone.

That was the name of a Sunday night radio show I listened to during the Summer of Love on a station out of Berkeley. I happened to end up there, as it turned out, watching it all unfurl from atop a lighthouse in the San Francisco Bay. But that’s another story.

I liked that the words floated into my thoughts.

You know what the mustard seed represents, don’t you? Faith. The story is that you only need a tiny little speck of it in order to do miracles. I tend to think that’s true.

So imagine what a two-ton seed would do for you. Especially if it was kaleidoscopic, transcendental, and multilingual as well! You’d be invincible! Sure, two tons sounds kind of heavy to carry around, but you have to remember it’s transcendental as well, so you can just let it float above you, beaming you with its kaleidoscopic colors and multilingual tunes.

Invent your life whatever way brings you the most confidence and contentment. It’s up to you.

We’re all going to learn so much in the weeks ahead!

Be your favorite self as you step into this new unknown.

That’s the best any of us can do.

And no matter what the days ahead may hold, isn’t it beautiful that life gives us such fine companions to share the journey? I like that I get to jump into the New Year with you. You!

Let’s do it!

New Year hugs,
Susan

_{Image by Markéta Machová from Pixabay}

Why We Sing

Every day since the start of the month, I’ve been posting – right here on this site – one chapter of the story of Little Pine from the first book of my three-year series. This first volume is called The Magic of the Light’s Return. It details Little Pine’s adventures as the forest and its creatures prepare for the return of the light on the winter solstice. Today, the final chapter is posted. It may be my favorite. It’s called “Why We Sing.”

(If you click over there to read it and decide you want to read the whole story, the beginning of it is here. You can start there and follow the arrows at the end of each chapter that will take you to the next one.)

The story has had me thinking a lot about Christmas.

I don’t think only in words, by the way. Often what I call thinking is really more like going to watch the movies in my head. All kinds of genres play there. Do you do that, too?

Anyway, I was thinking about it being the Christmas season again— that ancient winter holiday, come with all its legends and myths. I was in full humbug mode about it. I get that way every year. I growl at the season’s approach. Sometimes right up to the last minute.

Here’s what I wrote about it in my journal:

Here it is, whatever we might think of it: unavoidably, inescapably Christmas. The music, the lights, the media, the catalogs and commercials. It’s painful. It’s like a slap in the face, reminding us of how it used to be–before 2020 happened–then asking us to pretend it that it never did, so now hop online and buy those presents. (Nevermind that your favorite little stores are closed.)

It’s a heavy time of year.

It’s been a heavy year.

I mean, remember what you were doing a year ago this time of year. Can you? Think about last December, before the world met the words “Covid-19.” Remember what Christmas was like just last year–when the world was still normal? When you were cruising around in a place called Ordinary? When things still made some kind of sense?

Whew! It seems a long time ago, doesn’t it? Now everything’s upside down.

Anyway, I was thinking about how hard the season, this year, will be for so many of us, even those for whom it has no tradition or meaning. It’s the winter, for all of us in the northern hemisphere, of a most extraordinary year. The year where everything changed for everyone everywhere.

Already, the first storm of the winter has blown through. And this is just the beginning.

But think about that, too: It’s just the beginning.

It always is.

So, I was thinking about Christmas and a few fragments of memory began floating through. In my mental movie, I was in a huge old attic, kneeling before a treasure box I hadn’t opened in a long, long time. Inside it were stacks and stacks of DVD’s. “At Grandma’s House.” “Stuck in the Gate.” “A Board for the Bored.” The titles spoke in my mind as I shuffled through them. I’d glance at the cover of each one and then go on to the next one.

It dawned on me that what I was watching in my movie was a picture of how I usually look at my memories. I glance at their labels, casually decide that I know each one’s whole story, having lived it, and move on.

But what if, I thought, I went beyond the labels. What if I took one of those memories out of its sleeve, put it in the slot of my mental player and pressed “Play.” So I did. And it so fun that I wanted to share it with you.

I’ll tell you more details in some other letter. (I’m already taking so much of your time!) The gist of it is this: From your stack of memories, pick one about a holiday that you enjoy. (C’mon. Play along!) What’s your first bright memory about it? Let your attention settle on it for a moment and see how many details you can discover. Where are you? Are you indoors or out? What do you see there? What do you hear? Is anyone else there? Who? What were you doing?

Wander around there, let the memories wander you, guide you, open more of the scene.

Stay as long as you like. Then maybe linger just a bit longer, to be sure that’s really all you want to see of it, of this time that lives so vividly and expansively in your memory.

These are your treasures. You lived these moments. They were real. They are a part of you and your experience. And you know what? They’re a part of you right now. They’re a part of this moment, where you decided to let yourself dig into the treasure box, just for fun, to see what you might find there.

It seems kind of awesome that those memories could be a part of this amazing once-in-a-lifetime-2020-Christmas-season, helping us pay attention to the things that matter in our lives.

That’s pretty big magic, isn’t it?

May some of its glittering light be sprinkled upon you, my dear friend. May you taste of its peace, and of its joy.

Oh, and by the way. Let me remind you that you might have wanted to find out what the little bird had to say about why we sing.

Warmly smiling, and wishing you grand discoveries,

Susan

Why We Sing

Little Pine fell asleep with the sights and sounds of the day whirling inside him.

How magical it all had been! It was more beautiful than anything he had ever experienced.

Yet inside him, questions mixed with the images. What was it all about? What did it all really mean?

He sensed that he was right on the edge of understanding. But before he could find his answers, the dancing images of the day spun him off to the world of dreams.

The dreams finally faded to darkness as Little Pine entered a deep, peaceful sleep.

And that is when the beautiful bird appeared.

“I have heard your heart’s questions, dear Little Pine,” it cooed. “And I have come to unravel the mysteries for you.

“Everything in your world is but a reflection of something greater. Only a portion of who we are takes on earthly form.

“Think of the love that you feel in your heart. Think of the friendships that you hold dear. Think of the way that music stirs you, and of the thrill that beauty provides. These things are all a part of you. And yet you cannot see them. They do not show themselves in earthly form. They are too large, too pure, too high. And yet you know that they are more real than anything that your eyes can see or ears can hear.

“Behind the sweet earthly being who is Little Pine is a vast, magnificent Pine that you might call your soul. Only a sliver of it can become dense enough to experience this earthly adventure. And that little sliver is you.

“You know that your Festival celebrates the sun. Well, the Sun behind the sun is Love, a love so deep and vast and pure, that it causes worlds upon worlds to come into being, worlds as small as the tiniest particle and as large as all the heavens. This is the source of light, this Love, and of life itself. And the miracle is that it lives within us, and is us, and calls us by our names.

“And that is what we celebrate, Little Pine. That is the reason for our ecstatic joy.

“We forget, when we descend into the darkness of our heavy earth forms, that we are the children of this Love and its Light. We get lost in our illusions of separateness and suffering. And so, every year, just when the night is longest, Nature sings anew the eternal promise of the Light’s return. It reminds us that the Light can never die, for it springs from the Love that is everything, and beyond all things and within them.

“And that is why we dance, Little Pine. That is why we sing.”

And when it had spoken, the beautiful bird faded away, and Little Pine sank into a deep and dreamless sleep and floated in its peace.

Festival Day

The first song that Little Pine heard as he stepped outside was the caroling of his friend, Holly, dancing across the water from the opposite bank of the lake. The melody spilled across the gently rippling waters and rose from them, filling the air with its sound.

He stood still and drank in the clear, sweet notes. They filled his heart with tenderness, and once again he was entranced by the beauty of the world and felt its joy and peace.

He bowed to Holly, and she laughed in delight. He laughed, too, and ran off to see what other treasures the day would hold.

The rows of tall pines stood at attention while chickadees and red-headed woodpeckers played their fifes and drums. And accompanying them, he heard the merry tapping of fairy feet dancing on the decorated drums that the elves had prepared. The sound seemed to come from everywhere and thundered joyfully through the whole forest.

Before long, Little Pine came to the slope where the Queen of the Fields stood, more radiant than ever with her light dusting of snow. “Hello, Little Pine,” she sang to him. “Have a lovely Festival Day!” He stopped to chat with her a bit, telling her how lovely she looked. He asked if she might know how he could find the Snow Queen. He wanted to thank her, he explained, for her beautiful gift of snow.

She told him the Snow Queen herself couldn’t take on an earthly form, but that she would happily pass along his thanks when she spoke with her later.

“Have you been to the ballet yet?” the Queen of the Fields asked. Little Pine told her that he was headed there right now.

As he turned toward Holly Trail, Little Pine came to the great oak that had given birth to his friend Red Leaf, and stopped to thank the mighty tree for that gift, which had so blessed him throughout the past year. From high in the oak’s branches, he heard the happy chatter of the squirrels, who were munching away on their Festival Day breakfast.

Little Pine traveled on, and as he rounded the next bend, he caught his first glimpse of the delicate tree performing her graceful ballet. The elves were right. Her dance itself seemed to create the wondrous music that surrounded her. Her leaves were snow-capped now and glistening as she leaped and twirled, the very picture of grace and joy.

He took a seat by his elf friends who had come to see the show, and they erupted in applause and loud whistles when the little tree took her final bow.

Then, to Little Pine’s amazement, the elves themselves took to the stage and danced a jig so fast and intricate and lively that the whole audience broke into laughter and clapped until they could clap no more.

Just as the clapping came to an end, the howling of a pack of coyotes echoed through the trees, signaling that it was time for the Great Procession of the Animals to begin. Suddenly everyone headed to Holly Trail to take their places. Even the critters who were tucked in for the winter came forth to celebrate Festival Day. Mice and moles, mink and ground hogs, raccoons, squirrels, skunks, beavers, foxes, rabbits, coyotes and deer paraded through the forest singing their praises to the returning Light. It was a magnificent parade, ending at the base of Grandfather Pine, where everyone enjoyed a grand feast together.

By the time the festivities ended, it was growing late. But the elves asked Little Pine to join them as they delivered presents to the birds. Their mother had packed pretty bags full of nuts and seeds for all the cardinals and blue jays, and chickadees and sparrows, and for all the other winter birds who kept the forest singing in the winter. And so they trooped off, the elves whistling their merry tunes.

A light snow was falling as Little Pine turned toward home. What an extraordinary day it had been! He could hardly wait to share its adventures with his mother.

As he neared the door, he smelled the fragrance of the special meal that Mother had prepared, and heard Holly’s evening carol, still wafting from the lake. And his heart was filled with tenderness and joy.

Waking to the Light

Little Pine drifted to consciousness from a dream of stardust swirling through the sky. Before he even opened his eyes, he sensed that some kind of magic had happened.

Then he noticed a bright tingling on his needles, and he was instantly awake. “Snow!” he shouted. “Mother! Look! It snowed!”

Mother Pine laughed and said, “Yes! Isn’t it beautiful?”

Little Pine stared around in wonder. The whole forest was shimmering with light.

“Little Pine,” Mother said, setting a bowl of hot porridge on the table, “Do you know what today is?”

Mother looked so pretty with the layer of sparkling snow on her branches that Little Pine could hardly think. “What day is it, Mother?” he asked.

“It’s the day that the Great Festival begins,” she sang. “Today the Light starts its return!”

“That’s why it snowed, isn’t it!” Little Pine said.

“Yes,” Mother said. “I think it’s a special gift to us from the Snow Queen. If you see her today, be sure to tell her thank you.”

Little Pine loved the special note of happiness that he heard in his mother’s voice. He could tell that she was as excited about the great celebration as he was. Every creature in the woods had been preparing for this day. The fairies would dance and the trees would march and do their ballets, and all day long the air would be filled with singing.

Mother Pine smiled at her little one’s eagerness and gave him a special lunch she had packed for him to take with him today. He thanked her and almost ran toward the door. But at its threshold, he suddenly stopped and turned, and looking into her beaming face, he said, “Mother, I love you so much.”

And Mother, her eyes nearly spilling over with joy, said, “Little Pine, I love you, too.”

The Song of the Falling Waters

It wasn’t only his vision that seemed to have new clarity. Little Pine’s hearing was more alive now, too.

As he walked through the woods, almost drunk with the beauty around him, he found himself thrilling to the calls of the blue jays and crows, to the whistle of the cardinals.

The wisp of a breeze that murmured through the boughs of the pines and spruces carried the wordless stories of the trees.

The air seemed filled with music. He thought of the elves, whistling in the far end of the forest as they worked. And he smiled at the story they’d told him about the ballet of the little tree and how music came from nowhere when she danced.

Little Pine had never felt so alive. It was as if the whole world was awakening around him. He wondered where this wondrous stirring was coming from. Was it the blessing that came with the gift his mother had given him? Or was it something more?

But he let the thought go as soon as it arose. He didn’t need to know where all this beauty came from; it was enough to be living it.

As he neared the lake, Little Pine heard a music that he hadn’t heard in a long while. Yesterday’s rain had filled the lake enough to send its waters over the spillway, and the cascading waters were filled with song. He ran to them and stood on the slope breathing in their music. “The Light is near! It’s nearly here! Let your heart rejoice! It brings us life. It brings us cheer. To the Light, we raise our voice.”

“That’s it!” Little Pine said, right out loud. “I’m being filled by the Light!” No wonder, he thought, that we hold a Festival! No wonder that the whole earth sings!

Beauty Everywhere

As he fell asleep, Little Pine thought about the young human girl who came to the forest to make paintings of the lake and trees. In his dreams, he imagined seeing the forest through her eyes. He paid attention to the shapes and colors of the woods as he never had before.

The next day, as he strolled through the woods after breakfast, it was as if he was seeing everything with new eyes. Colors that he never noticed before suddenly came alive. He saw new depth in the textures of things. Patches of tree bark looked like little masterpieces.

He walked in a trance of wonder, feeling almost as if he were in a different world.

A moss-covered tree stump caught his eye, and he looked at the collection of fallen leaves, twigs and pine needles nestled in its hollow. It reminded him of a bird somehow, landing on its nest. How beautiful all the colors seemed to him, and how perfect their arrangement!

When he came across a patch of the drums that the elves had decorated for the Festival, he was amazed by their artistry. He had liked them before, and thought they were quite pretty, but now they nearly took his breath away and filled him with so much delight that he began twirling and twirling, and shouting “YeeeeHah!” just to release his joy.

The blessing in the gift that his mother had given him last night—the painting of his ancestor’s pine cone, the story of the little human girl—was larger than he had supposed. It brought with it a whole new vision of his world, one filled with more beauty than he had ever imagined a world could contain.

A Gift for Little Pine

Little Pine was reading one of his favorite story books after dinner when his mother came into the room. She was holding her arms behind her back and wearing a mysterious smile.

“Little Pine,” she said, “Come here and sit beside me. I have a gift for you.”

“Shut your eyes,” she said when he was seated. He felt her lean forward and set something on the table in front of them.

“Okay!” Mother whispered. “Look!”

When Little Pine opened his eyes, he could hardly believe what he was seeing. It was a framed painting of the most beautiful pine cone that he had ever seen. It looked as if it had just fallen from heaven.

“Is that an angel, Mother?” he gasped in wonder.

“In a way,” Mother said. Then she told him a story.

“One summer, a long, long time ago, before Grandfather Pine was born, a human little girl started visiting the forest. She liked to sit beneath Great Grandmother’s boughs. Sometimes she would bring a book with her and read. But often she brought canvasses and paints, and she would sit for hours, singing and painting pictures of the lake and of the trees.

“She was a sweet little girl who always greeted Great Grandmother as she seated herself by her side. And when she left, she would always say goodbye and thank Great Grandmother for her shade.

“Late that autumn, she came with a basket and gathered the pine cones that Great Grandmother had released to spill their seeds. When her basket was full, she walked over to Great Grandmother and pressed her body against Great Grandmother’s trunk, stroking her bark with her free hand. ‘Thank you!’ she whispered to Great Grandmother. And then, as she skipped with her basket from the woods, she turned and waved and shouted, ‘Thank you! Merry Christmas, beautiful tree!’

“The weather turned cold and the days grew short and the human girl didn’t come to read and paint any more. But Great Grandmother often thought of her and the thought made her heart smile.

“Soon all the forest beings were preparing for the Festival of Light. And on the day that it began, the most amazing thing happened. The little human girl came singing through the forest, carrying a large basket in her arms. ‘Happy Christmas, great tree!’ she said to Great Grandmother. ‘I brought some presents for you!” And, laughing, she hung dozens of little portraits of angel pine cones all over Great Grandmother’s lower boughs. ‘May your seed grow and fill the land,’ she sang.

“And then she left, and Great Grandmother never saw her again. When the squirrels came by, she asked them to tuck the paintings carefully away, and to cover them with leaves to protect them.

“Over the years, her seed grew and covered our whole section of the forest. And when each of her offspring reached a certain age, she gave them one of these paintings as a blessing, that their seed might grow and continue to fill the land.

“Now you have reached that certain age, Little Pine. And it is my honor to give this gift to you, and to pass on its blessing, in memory of your Great Grandmother, and of a little human’s love for our kind.”

Little Pine’s heart was filled with wonder and joy. “What a beautiful gift!” he thought. “What a treasure!” He thanked his mother and snuggled against her. And the two of them sat gazing at the painting of the angel pine cone long into the night.