~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
The flowers that have been dearly loved
from generation to generation across
continents and cultures have returned.
Today, one such treasured blossom
opened from its full round bud
into a petticoat of ruffles in shades
of palest pink and spilled a fragrance
reminiscent of lilacs and roses combined,
heady and wonderful. And we recalled
the gardens of our mothers and grandmothers
and thanked our lucky stars.
The pastel sky sings the evening dreams
that rise from the sleeping trees and fields.
Soon I, too, will let go of the day and fall asleep
with flowers waltzing through my head,
wave after wave of them, oceans of gold
and green and blue washing up against
stands of water iris, lapping the roots
of the holly and the fern as wild white roses
tumble softly down on their vines.
And I will hear a lullaby of tiny bells chiming,
“Remember. Remember.”
And I will sleep well, smiling.
I stand in the deep vegetation at the creek’s edge
stunned by the countless shades of green
and by the tangled lushness of it all.
A mere six weeks ago, I was hunting
for the first wild flower, hoping one had poked up
through the still brown and matted grass.
And look now, what the spring has wrought
in what feels like a blink of my awestruck eyes.
God, I love May! How could You write Your Yes
more clearly? How could one see this
and doubt Your being!
Every time I wrote the date today
I thought of you and felt a smile spread
across my face, warm as honey.
Just think, it was over a century ago,
probably on a day as lovely as this one,
that you were born, gracing the world
with a loveliness all your own. I miss you.
But oh, how I carry you in my heart!
How I feel your arms surrounding me!
How I know, more deeply with every
passing day, how magnificent you were!
And how indebted and grateful I am
for all the gifts you so generously gave, to me,
and to all whose lives your courage and gentleness
touched. Happy Birthday, Marion May.
I love you.
Listening to her heart, the rhododendron was at ease,
even though the work was complex and new.
She trusted, not as one trusts a mere belief,
but as one trusts from experience,
that the next step would make itself known.
Sometimes she had to stretch herself, to reach
higher and farther than she thought she could.
Often she couldn’t see how things would turn out.
But it was the challenges that made the work fun.
Just days ago, after all, she was a green bud.
And now, here she was, her petals pink and broad,
glistening in the morning sun.
Had you asked her, she would not have been able
to tell you how a bud transforms into a flower.
She didn’t even know then that a flower
was what she would become.
She only knew that life’s patterns
were drawn in wisdom and love and that her task
was to listen for the harmonies and to let them guide her.
And so she worked with a sense of spacious ease,
centered and content, and filled with quiet joy.
Wild roses tumble from tree limbs now
and cascade on their vines down the hills,
their white petals accenting the lush
foliage that has overtaken the world.
“Summer,” they breathe, although
its official start is still a month away.
I inhale the warmth of the green air,
watch the sunlight play on the roses’ petals,
and smile, feeling the slide of the seasons.
I come inside after gazing
at the newly opened iris,
the season’s first, just in time
to catch a conversation
floating from the laptop
on my kitchen table.
“Happiness,” Mo is saying,
“isn’t about getting what you want.”
He pauses slightly and smiles.
“It’s about loving what you have.”
(How could we not!)
Quietly, words from a card pinned
above my desk flow through my mind:
“Look around you.
Appreciate what you have.
Nothing will be the same
in a year.” I look around,
my eyes brushing everything
with thanks so deep it nearly spills
right over the brim.
I was sorting through the little stack of papers that accumulates on the corner of my desk no matter what I do. I call it my Perpetual Paper Pile. It has the magical ability, I believe, to regenerate itself if I set aside one little piece of paper to deal with ‘later.’
But that aside, I discovered a little treasure in the heap, an index card with a power question written on it. “How easy can I let this be?” it said.
Think about that for a minute. If you take them one little step at a time, few things are difficult in and of themselves. It’s our straining that makes them seem so, or our having made a judgment somewhere along the line that we don’t like to do whatever it is we’re doing.
The day after I found the card, a friend of mine who had strained her upper back asked me if I could do a little ironing for her. She hated to ask, but her husband was going on a trip and really needed the shirts.
Now, I have to tell you that ironing is my number one most-despised household task. One of my first jobs as a teenager was doing housework for a family that included five kids. Laundry was a daily task, and the wife saved the ironing for me. Back in those ancient days, permanent press fabric was just working its way onto the market and it was still in its less-then-perfected stage. If you wanted wrinkle-free clothing, you had to iron it. And irons were heavy pieces of equipment back then, far from the feather-weight ones that we use today.
Well, the wife didn’t just want the shirts and blouses, dresses and slacks pressed, she wanted smooth underwear and handkerchiefs, bed sheets and pillow cases, too. So I often spent five hours of my work days doing nothing but ironing. After a summer of that, I didn’t want ever to see an iron again.
Of course I do still iron a few items now and then. But it’s far from my favorite task, and when my friend asked me to do some ironing for her, I cringed inside as I agreed to help her.
Then I remembered the card. “How easy can I let this be?” Hmmm. I could let it be as easy as I wanted. I could even let myself look at it as an interesting task if I chose to do so.
I still wouldn’t want to hire myself out to do ironing every day. But ironing for my friend turned into an easy and satisfying job, thanks to the insight I got from that question.
The next time you’re faced with a job you don’t want to do, or that intimidates you in some way, or that makes you feel pressured, ask yourself how easy you can let it be. The question’s power lies in the fact that it prompts you to own your essential competence. It reminds you that you are in control of your attitudes. You can chose to let some old, unquestioned judgment run you, or you can choose to approach the task with a sense of relaxed ease and fresh eyes.
Not only does that make the work more pleasant, but it allows you to approach it with a more spacious mind. You work more efficiently and effectively. You see solutions that you wouldn’t see if you were feeling disgruntled or anxious or stressed. And as icing on the cake, once the task is completed, your mind is more open to taking genuine satisfaction in your accomplishment of it.
That’s a pretty worthwhile gift from one tiny little question. “How easy can I let this be?” Write it on a card or sticky note to remind you to ask it. See if it doesn’t iron some wrinkles out of your days.
Wishing a week of pleasures and ease.
Warmly,
Susan
Image by Ollebolle123 from Pixabay
When I wake to a fresh blue sky
and the morning is dazzled with emerald
leaves dancing on a cool breeze
that carries the scent of white lilacs
and the songs of countless birds,
joy floods my being, and I know
that all the highest promises are true
and all the coming hours are blessed,
whatever they may hold.
They stand for nothing,
not for a price or a system,
nor for any particular position,
or concept or creed. They obey
only the law of their being:
Flower freely. And so they show
their colors, and feed the ants and bees,
and decorate the roadsides, and dance
in the morning breeze, asking nothing,
simply being, and singing their songs.
And when the stars rise and twinkle
above them, they dream sweet dreams,
and their hearts are filled with joy.