Susan Minarik – Page 126 – Notes from the Woods

Who’s Directing this Show?

“Never doubt the reality of your own inner greatness,” I heard a guy on the radio say. Nothing inside me felt especially great at the moment and I caught myself kind of rolling my eyes at the statement.

But then I thought about it a bit. First of all, I asked myself why did I automatically respond to the statement the way I did, with such a smirk on my face.

Because, I explained to myself, it’s sounds hokey, like something some slick motivational speaker in a thousand-dollar suit would say. “Well,” I said back to myself, does that make it untrue?” Ah. That was the key question. Do we possess inner greatness or not?

I had to admit to myself that of course we do. It’s just a little scary to admit it. You might have to live up to the idea of being great if you believed it was true. And besides, wouldn’t thinking you were great make you awfully prideful and pompous? Not really, the other side of me said; not if you were genuinely great.

“Hm,” I said. “Well then, what is it about us that gives us our inner greatness?”

And the other half of me said quietly, “Your ability to make your own choices, to decide who you want to be. What role will you play today? Victim or Victor? Enslaved or Free? What demeanor will you wear? One of fear or one of love?”

That was, I decided, a pretty good answer, and I thought about it a little more. I saw how the roles we play aren’t who we truly are; they’re the outward expressions of our choices.

We ourselves are the ones who choose which roles we’ll play today, and how, here on the world’s stage. Our true self is above the roles, the director of the show. Everybody is the director of his or her own show, choosing how to play each role.

Personally, I believe there’s a director above me, too, a higher voice with whom I may consult. I imagine there’s another director above that one, too, and more above that, stretching into infinity, each one offering guidance to the one below, until, multiple dimensions later, you arrive at the Ultimate Director, who guides all the rest–every actor that’s ever appeared on the stage, or ever will. And not only in this world, but in all the others, too. And the higher the director, the wiser and more loving and powerful and pure. So we can’t even begin to imagine how magnificent the Ultimate One must be. It’s an amazing picture. But that’s just me. I tend to think in images. I’m fine with your view, too. I’d probably find it interesting and amazing.

Anyway (as my dear friend Ruth says, singing the syllables slowly, when she’s ready to change a subject or get back to her point), the important thing is to realize that here, in this world, you get to choose who and how you will be. No matter what your circumstances.

And here’s a hint I adopted on my travels. It’s good to find a way to remind yourself that you are the director who decides how you’ll play your various roles, what mood and mindset you will express. Not necessarily the familiar one that you’ve been playing for a year or months or several hours now. You get to decide any minute, every minute: “How do I want to be now?” And you get to interpret what that means and how you will act it out. Remind yourself!

It’s a wondrous gift and responsibility to know you are in charge, that you get to choose how to play out every minute of your life. Accept it with reverence and humor. Then get out there and play it to the hilt. Because, you know, it’s up to you. Grab those directions and go!

Warmly,

Susan

^{Image by Elisa Way from Pixabay}

Finding the Flashlight

When I walk in the woods, I often follow the trails that the animals have made. Sometimes I’ll find myself deep in the trees and vines and brush when all at once the trail just stops. I have no idea how that happens. It’s a bit of a startling feeling. The trail was showing me where to go, and now it’s not there. It’s up to me to figure out where I am and which way I want to head.

I have had the same experience following a detour when driving. You’re paying attention, following the signs, and after a dozen turns in the route, you realize the signs have simply ceased to be.

This week has been kind of like that. I was tramping through the brush, aware of what was around me, following the signs. Then all of a sudden, the trail stopped, and I was on my own, having to figure things out for myself. Where am I? Who am I? Where do I want to go from here?

My experience told me that the first thing you have to do when you’re in a situation like that is to stop. Just stop. Then look around you, see where you are. Take stock. Who is this me that’s here in this spot? What was her intention?

You already know who and where you are, of course. But when you’re casting your attention outside of yourself, or on inner dreams, sometimes your intention gets lost. The trail’s sudden end wakes you up so you can remember. Oh yes. I am here. And this is what I want to do. I’ll start by heading in that direction.

I woke up this morning feeling as if I had lost the trail. I was disoriented for some reason, confused. So I asked my questions. Where am I? Who am I? What do I want to do?

It was one of those days when I could stay in bed and think about it for a little while. So instead of thinking that I was one of the roles I play, and that she had better get going, I enjoyed the leisure and asked myself which role I wanted to be, which was the primary one, the basic one on which all the others floated.

It took a while for me to decide. I had to dig through a few layers of possibilities to get there. Then finally the answer softly whispered in my mind. “You are a Flexitarian Harmonizer, Susan, currently serving in the Order of Joy Warriors.” It’s an imaginary Order. I made it up. But I promised myself that I would adapt its mantel and learn what there was to be learned.

It hasn’t been easy going. This world we share tests each of us to our limits. The trick is to be sure, as you travel life’s road, that you have always have a flashlight in your pocket with a built-in compass. Mine has the words “Joy Warrior” engraved on it. You alone can read the engraving on yours. (You might have to dig through some crusted-on old stories to read it; but it’s there. And even if you can’t read its name, in your heart you know what it means.)

So, after I remembered my promise to be a Joy Warrior, I asked myself exactly what a Joy Warrior is. Again, the answer whispered. “To be a Joy Warrior is to relentlessly battle against all that stands between you and the full realization that you are one with the Source of Joy, which lives within you.”

At first, I was warmed and inspired by the thought. Then I burst out in laughter. “Well, so far, there’s been no shortage of battles!” I shouted to the whisper. But each one, I realized, brought lessons, and learning, and deeper understanding. And those were treasures I could have acquired in no other way.

Once I’d found my flashlight, I knew it didn’t really matter what I would do in the day ahead. I could step into it with gratitude that I had hours ahead of challenge and rest and play. I tucked that little flashlight into my pocket and went on with my day.

Thinking about you as I write this, I smile. I wish you a light-filled week ahead.

Warmly,
Susan

_{Photo by S. Hermann & F. Richter at Pixabay.com}

When Chaos Reigns

The world’s not an easy place to live in right now. We’re all definitely walking a rather rocky patch of road. In the dark. With a strong wind blowing. And we’re not quite sure where we are.

All of us.

That’s an important thing to remember.

Everybody has his own idea about what is going on. But we’re in epic times and only time itself will reveal what’s ahead. For some of us, the uncertainty is exhilarating. For some, it‘s scarey. For some, it’s infuriating. For others, it’s just misery and stress.

Meanwhile, life goes on, with all of its demands–and then some. And it’s making those demands on us all. On the woman in the next room, on the man next door, on the kids in the back yard and the ones across the world. We’re all being tried. We all just want the wind to stop and for the road to become smooth again. We want to pick up the damn rocks that are making our way so hard and hurl them into the night.

I read a story on social media today written by an unknown author that described our situation this way:

“If you catch 100 red fire ants as well as 100 large black ants and put them in a jar, at first, nothing will happen. However, if you violently shake the jar and dump them back on the ground, the ants will fight until they eventually kill each other.

“The thing is, the red ants think the black ants are the enemy and vice versa, when in reality, the real enemy is the person who shook the jar. This is exactly what’s happening in society today. Liberal vs. Conservative, Black vs. White, Pro-Mask vs. Anti-Mask.

“The real question we need to be asking is who’s shaking the jar . . . and why?”

As I said, everybody has his own idea about what is going on. But we’re all so shook up that it’s easy to cast blame. Remember, it’s dark out right now and we don’t know where we are. In such a time, it is wiser to bond with each other than to wrestle on these sharp rocks. Patience is our ally here, a willingness to take life one step at a time.

Old sureties may be gone, but we have this Now. And we each have the option to choose from the countless possibilities that it holds. As we choose among them, let’s do our best to remember that it wasn’t the person in our presence who’s been shaking the jar. This person, the one before us, is also walking on the rocks.

“This is suffering,” Tara Brach says. “Everybody suffers. May I be kind.” Tuck that little light in your pocket to help you along the way.

Remember to be kind to yourself as well. Remember to ask yourself who, in this moment, you truly want to be. Let yourself wear a small smile; it will bring you comfort and healing. Then square your shoulders and carry on.

There is, after all, an end to night. Dawn is just a bit away, and then we will see more clearly.

Until then, be patient, and be kind.

Warmly

Susan

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.”