Listen, it’s all a gift. No matter how it feels. This moment is larger than we imagine and could not exist as it is but for our part in it. Our seeing stitches it together. Our words are notes in its song. When we move, we move the whole atmosphere. We breathe air and drink water that has circulated through countless other bodies before ours. Our thoughts shape the future and color its days. We give time its meaning and rhyme. And it all shines back at us, a perfect reflection in the grand cosmic mirror, of who we are, each of us, and all of us together.
What if we who are here now will be the last ones to walk among the trees. Ever. To walk anywhere, for that matter. The push of the final button in a world that has gone insane seems well within the range of possibilities after all. Any day now, everything could be gone. All of it. But today I walk in the woods on a perfect summer day, breathing in the smell of it as if this were the first time I ever experienced its perfume. I give thanks for the vibrant green life of it, for the packed dirt path beneath my feet, for knowing that I, too, am alive, right here, right now, remembering words from an unknown poet: My cathedral has no walls. Amen.
Then, when you least expect it, a glint of garnet red so radiant that you can only gape and stare pulls you into its depths, all the lush green that flooded your mind a minute ago, utterly gone, leaving in its place a crown of golden flowers rising from vermilion petals, their only mission to sing to your eyes in joy.
This is my world now, this dance of green, with all its stories and lessons, its healing, its comfort, its flow, its movement, its peace. I stare at the trees, as astonished as always to realize anew that they are living beings, fellows on the journey through this particular moment and place, astonished, too, that such beings could be, and me, with eyes to see them and a heart that hears their songs.
Great choruses of orange day lilies line the roads now. They arrive in troops, singing from their golden throats, their petals opening into fat, happy stars. I drive past them smiling, Somewhere in a corner of my mind, I hear ice cream truck music and my mouth is remembering the textures and tastes and cold of an orange creamsicle on a hot summer day when I rode my bike down the sandy road, dime in my pocket, to buy one. It’s the memories these wild lilies evoke that make us smile inside at the sight of them. We think that we take them for granted. But they bring memories to all our hearts of summer days like this one. That’s their gift.
Oh Yes! This is it! This is what we wanted, what we longed for the whole winter long, this summer day with a breeze pushing the tall grass and giant clouds transporting us back to our childhoods when we stretched out on the green fragrance and found circuses sailing overhead, when even the ants were a matter of utter fascination. Yes! This is it exactly. The perfect summer day. Oh, at last! Oh Yes. Oh Yes. Oh Yes.
I’m pouring my morning coffee when a motion catches my eye. Two fawns scamper from the woods to stand in the clearing at its edge. They graze on the grass and nibble leaves, pausing, heads raised, to survey the surrounding sights and sounds. Awareness is their only protection. That, and their speed. They can vanish in an instant. But they stay for maybe three minutes. Then they are gone, leaving me to think how lucky I am to live in a time and place where young deer can appear mere yards away. Like them, such a time can vanish in an instant. That’s the plan, you know. I sip my coffee and give thanks for this now, my mind still awed by the privilege of seeing baby deer.
It’s been nearly a decade now since a friend asked me to write “one of your letters” for her to give to her son as a graduation gift. I remember being honored by her request, and moved. I remember doing a lot of contemplation before I wrote it. Finally, the words came to me as if they were a gift of love. I thought they deserved to be shared.
This is what the letter to the young graduate said:
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“You were born with potential. You were born with goodness and trust. You were born with ideals and dreams. You were born with greatness. You were born with wings. You are not meant for crawling, so don’t. You have wings. Learn to use them and fly.” ― Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
Rumi’s right, of course. But it’s hardly the whole story. This learning-to-fly business is no easy thing. Nor is it quickly learned.
For one thing, you have to want it—that ability to soar above the crowd. You have to keep fighting against the pull of mediocrity. You have to want freedom more than you want to belong.
Those ideals and dreams you have in your heart? Define them. Write down what you want and why and keep your reasons close at hand. You will need reminders when the headwinds are strong, when storms come. And storms will come.
No one succeeds without chalking up a list of failures. Don’t be afraid to fail. Be afraid of not trying to win. “Wisdom,” an old saying goes, “comes from experience. And experience comes from making mistakes.” There’s no shame in that. Setbacks and failures are life’s gifts to you, sent as corrections to your course. Be daring. Take risks.
Keep a good helping of forgiveness in your pocket. Mostly you’ll need it for yourself. It will keep you from tearing yourself down needlessly and will help you maintain your humility while you continue your upward climb.
Learn not to blame circumstances or other people when things go wrong. The key to success is the acceptance of full and complete responsibility for every choice you make and for every action you take, for your own response to whatever is happening. When you inadvertently hurt others, be quick to apologize and make amends.
To the best of your ability, maintain your health. Eat wisely. Exercise. Get sufficient sleep. Learn to relax. Adopt some form of meditation.
Maintain flexibility of thought. Consider opinions that oppose your own. Be willing, if it serves truth, to discard every belief you’ve ever held. Demand truth, whatever the consequences. And to the very best of your ability, be honest with yourself and others; that’s what the practice of truth demands.
Nevertheless, be kind. Be gracious and tactful. Allow others the respect and compassion they deserve. These are the hallmarks of genuine maturity and of leadership.
Take time in your life for pleasure and play. To be alive is a profound privilege. And your gratitude is best expressed through your laughter and your joy, through your appreciation of life’s beauty and goodness and fun.
Above all, vow to learn to love, as broadly and fully as you can. For love is the wind which lifts us, and the power that enables us to soar.
You have wings, my friend. Learn to use them, and fly.
Congratulations on all your magnificent successes thus far! You have honored yourself and your loving family and made all of us better with all that you have achieved.
This is the day of long light, the birthday of summer. Drink it in. Let it glide into your eyes and slide into your pores. Lick it with your tongue, feel it seep into your cells and flow through your veins, this sustainer of life, this spirit of fiery joy.
Celebrate its dawn; embrace its high noon. Float in the glow of its dusk until the stars rise and the fireflies sparkle the night in its honor. This is the day of long light, the birthday of summer. May our hearts dance with it, and be glad.
I thank you for waking the earth again, for gifting it with flowers and robins and fawns, with ferns and the tender baby leaves of trees, with lambs and baby goats and donkeys. And all of it well-established now and ready to unfold and grow. Thank you for melting away winter’s frozen world, for replacing the cold with balmy bare-armed days, and soft air filled with birdsong. Thank you for rain, and puddles, and rushing streams. Thank you for thunderstorms and great winds, and for your torrid foretastes of summer. You did it all! And now you leave me with this parting gift, this pure and tender flower. I will remember you always, dear Springtime. Thank you. Thank you. Farewell.
