~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
All of a sudden the lilacs
are trumpeting their arrival.
Here. In the cool May rain.
When the sun reappears
they will open white petals,
and oh, the sweetness
they will give to the air!
Meanwhile, don’t you adore
their long, smooth throats? And how
their leaves glisten in the rain?
You would think that after decades
the world would cease to amaze,
to stop making that voice inside you
whisper, “Look!” But it doesn’t.
Every single year, it brings on spring.
Spring, with her whirl of changing moods,
tossing lightning bolts and wildflowers
and everywhere fresh green.
Last night it was thunder and buckets
of rain. Today, the newly mown path
that circles the wetlands is dry.
But spread on the floor of the woods
to the east, a sudden lake mirrors the sky.
and there it is again, that voice,
whispering “Look!”
The tulip had given its best.
It pushed itself through near-frozen soil
and withstood cold nights that took some
of its companions. It formed its bud slowly,
holding it closed until it was sure the threat
of freezing was gone. And then it opened,
full of splendor, its petals painted in a rainbow
of pinks, and corals and orange
For days it stood, offering its song to the garden,
to the sky, to all who chanced to pass by.
And when it finally spent itself and bowed
to the ground, the sky wept in pearly droplets
that bathed its dying petals in a wash of love,
in honor of all it had given,
for all that it had been.
Having completed their evening chorus,
the songbirds are still now, nestled
in their leafy shelters, dreaming
of flight. But from the upper woods
on the slope of the south hill, a turkey
calls, its sound linking in my mind
to the call of a loon that I heard
at sunset when I was ten
and spending a week at a camp
by a lake in a Michigan woods.
I remember the temperature
and fragrance of the evening air,
the sky’s colors, the cracking bonfire,
and how we all joined hands,
and facing the sun as it melted
into the lake, sang “Taps.”
As I gaze at the sunset’s lingering colors,
the turkey calls again, and I hear
a choir of children. “All is well,”
they sing. “Safely rest.
God is nigh, God is nigh.”
A curtain of rain had covered the hillside
for what seemed like endless days.
When, finally, it lifted, the world
was drenched in green and you
found yourself breathing emeralds
touched with honeysuckle perfume.
I ran across a quote from the Buddha this week that touched me with its simplicity and wisdom:
“Teach this triple truth to all: A generous heart, kind speech, and a life of service and compassion are the things which renew humanity.”
We have but to look around us to see that humanity is in need of renewal—on so many levels. We need a renewal of our ideals, of our morality, of our sense of decency and of neighborliness. We need to renew our vision of what humanity can accomplish, of our reverence for life itself and of our personal responsibility to contribute to life with whatever gifts we have been given.
It seems a monumental task sometimes. So much is broken and crumbling; so much is in need of healing and repair.
And yet, in one simple sentence, the Buddha has given us the way. Be kind. Care about each other. Do what you can to add ease to someone’s day. That’s where all healing beings, after all—in one heart opening to another.
In the neighborhood grocery I frequent, a special young woman works as a clerk. She looks each customer in the eye and smiles a cheerful hello as if she were greeting an old friend that she hadn’t seen for a long time. And without fail, the customers smile back and each one, no matter how weary or old or burdened, leaves the store feeling renewed. It doesn’t take much. One heart, opening to another.
Who knows? Maybe her smile changed someone’s attitude, prevented an argument, eased someone’s loneliness. Maybe it got passed on. Maybe it spread to a hundred people before the day was through, and the world was made a lighter place, a hundred times over.
It sounds like a trifling thing, a friendly smile. But once I heard about a man who was on his way to jump off a bridge and end his life when the eye contact and a smile of a stranger shot a ray of hope into him and gave him the courage to let his life continue on.
We get lost in our electronic gadgets, ignoring the person beside us while we busily fiddle with our little hand-held screens. We forget to speak to one another face to face, and more importantly, to listen to one another with caring and compassion and interest. And yet we’re starved for human contact, for conversation, for an hour spent with an engaged companion who is as interested in us as in herself, for the touch of a hand, the sharing of ideas and laughter and play.
To live a life of service and compassion means to live with awareness of the needs of others, and to address those needs with whatever level of kindness you’re willing and able to provide at the time. Your actions don’t have to be grand or daring. Service doesn’t have to be a profession of anything except your empathy. Profess that, in whatever way you can. Let your heart be generous and your words be kind. Do that, and you will have done your part to make the world a brighter place.
Wishing you a week of gentleness and joy.
Warmly,
Susan
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
Over the decades of birthdays past
life has grown complex. You think,
when you are young, that you will reach
a point of dreams come true, maybe
by the old age of forty or so,
and coast to the end from there,
fulfilled and at ease.
Then reality happens, revealing a world
that’s nothing you had supposed
or wanted it to be. Life, you discover,
can be tough, it’s lessons hard, its pathways
often rocky. But, oh, the treasures
it bestows along the way! The rays of truth
and wisdom, the touches from loving hands,
the songs of Silent Teachers singing
through the seasons, smiles of strangers
and children, the stream of companions
and friends, and always, the infinite
sky, painting the unfathomable Yes
to remind you, despite any evidence
to the contrary, that you never truly
left home and have always been
known and dearly loved. And so, arriving
at this birthday present, my 78th, I celebrate
sunlight spilling through green branches
onto pink azalea blossoms and give thanks
for another day of waking
on this wondrous and challenging globe.
What? For me?
This exact moment in a forever of time;
this exact spot out of all of the everywheres!
This perfect clear sky and the thousands
of blossoms and tender new leaves!
Why, thank you! It’s lovely!
More than I ever dreamed.
One day, years and years ago, on a day
much like this one, I walked along
a country road, much like this one.
It had been a long, hard winter.
I had passed the time assembling
picturesque, thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles.
Now, looking up at the scene before me
as I walked, I suddenly saw the world
transform into a giant jigsaw puzzle,
its pieces etched against the sky.
“What would happen,” I wondered,
“If I reached up and pulled a piece out?”
So I did. And then I knew.
What an amazing dream!
If I were a bird, that’s where I’d be,
on the highest branch of the tallest tree,
watching the world, feeling the breeze,
catching the songs, completely at ease.
I could fly off; I do as I please.
But how lovely it is at the top of the trees!