Taking Sides

I was out looking at the stars the other night, and once more I was filled with awe at the realization that our home is but one speck of rock circling one star amidst uncountable stars in one of an unknown number of galaxies. How small we are! And yet, how incredible our minds, to be able to grasp the immensity of it all, to compute the distances, to be capable of wonder and to marvel at its mysteries and order and beauty.

How can we be asleep to that? How can we take it all for granted? Why, when we’re gifted not only with intelligence but with the capacity to love, is our little world beset with such rancor and pain?

You know, there seems to be a trend afoot these days to pit us all against each other, to egg us into taking sides on every conceivable issue. Tensions and conflicts engulf our homes and work places, our neighborhoods and nations. And this, despite the fact that what the overwhelming majority of humans want is simply to get along with each other and to live our lives in harmony and peace.

None of us has the power, individually, to change the course of world events. But we can have an influence in our immediate corners of the world. That’s the place to start. From there, it evolves and spreads, of its own accord. It becomes the ripple that eventually turns the tide,

I heard a suggestion this week that I liked a lot. Instead of getting entrapped in the blame game, it said, focus on seeking solutions. Ask yourself what you can do to make things better and be willing to give your ideas a try.

Sometimes that can mean having to admit you were less than kind, or respectful, or honest. None of us is at our best all the time. We get tired, and crabby, and selfish. It’s part of being human to blame someone else for our lousy states of mind. But our ability to apologize is a part of being human, too.

Sometimes making things better means stretching beyond our comfort zones and trying on less-than-familiar behaviors—holding our tongues when we would normally confront, forgiving hurts, deciding to overlook other’s foibles instead of falling into irritation, looking for things to like in those whose opinions contrast with our own.

What can I do to make things better? That’s the solution-focused question. How can I create more harmony? More understanding? More beauty? More wholesomeness and health? What would be the kind thing to do? The loving thing? How can we work together to fix things?

“Be the peace you want to see in the world” the sage said. Every time you apply it, the world does indeed become a more peaceful place. One act, one person at a time.

Wishing you a week filled with beautiful solutions.

Warmly,
Susan

Image by Rosy / Bad Homburg / Germany from Pixabay

Late March Rain

The rain glides down the still bare branches
of the trees, washing them clean for springtime.
The fragrance of spring is in the air now, even though
on days like these, bathed in clouds, the world
looks as much like November as it does late March.
Until you notice the buds bursting open on the trees.
Until you spot the daffodils’ leaves rising from the soil.
Until you notice how this wet, cold air
is brimming with birdsong.
Then you know.

The Irresistible Lure

I see you, brave little leaves,
poking up from winter’s survivors
into the late March air even though
the nights still promise more frost.
I understand; I came early, too.
You can only wait so long before
you simply have to make the leap.
Comfort is fine, as far as it goes,
but oh, the irresistible lure
of fresh adventures!

Dancing in Springtime

The budding trees are dancing their welcome to Springtime,
bless them, as if this dance could be their last. You never know.
Anything can happen, and for all its brilliance and potential, mankind
has once more pushed this spinning world right to the brink.

Nevertheless, today the sky is blue and sap is rising,
and robins dart in little flocks above the fields. It’s true,
what the poet said about hope. It springs eternal. So
let us dance and may the life within us swell in gladness.

Why are we here at all, if not to give thanks?

Spring Arrives

It’s not like you flip a switch and here it is,
full-blown, with lush greens and tulip blossoms.
Spring is more subtle than that, refined,
you might say. She glides in slowly,
sometimes mild and sunny, sometimes
cloaked in rain and snow. But her light
proclaims what her weather may not say,
and new birds were singing at her dawn.
Keep faith. These are but her first hours.
Spring has miracles up her sleeve.

Winter’s Last Day

Like a signature quickly fading,
one last curve of snow lines the road.
One last layer of ice floats on the lake.
The winter-bleached fields wait for the plow.

The transition feels seamless, a gradual flowing
of seasons, one into another. And yet, in this moment,
a robin’s call marks the long winter silence
with its alert: something new comes.

Returning Home

You can never go home, they say. What they mean
is that the place you remember isn’t the same
as what’s there now. Everything changes, you know.
Things put on new faces or disappear. New things
tower from places where there was nothing before.

So when you cruise in, it takes time to get your bearings,
even though this is the place where you were born.
You have to scout around a bit, act the part of a tourist
until the familiar emerges from behind the new mask,
until the memories float up from the fragments time
let stand. They’ll be enough to anchor you.

Home is home, the place where your heart
began beating, where you took your first breath.
You hold what was. It shows you what is.
Together you can make your tomorrows.

Good Fortune

What great good fortune, little wood sorrel,
to find smiling there, posing as a shamrock
on this St. Patrick’s Day. Wear what name
you will, your mothy wings so gladden
with their green. And how sweetly you sing
Springtime to our wintered-over hearts.

What Are You Feeding in There?

Have you ever heard the statement, “What you focus on expands”?  It’s a fact of life, and a good one to remember. 

A friend of mine reminded me about it in a recent blog post she wrote.  She had attended a conference where one of the speakers, a brain scientist, asked the audience, “How many neurons over a lifetime have you dedicated to worry?  Or to fear, or guilt, or limitation of any kind?”

She said his choice of the word “dedicate” really caught her attention.  And rightly so.  The more you repeat a thought, the more deeply you carve neural pathways for it in your brain.  And the deeper the pathway, the easier it is for your thoughts to flow along it.  You’re dedicating those neurons with every similar thought. “What you focus on expands.” 

When you create pathways of limitation, they become launching pads for a nefarious secondary force I once heard named “the zucchini god”—the one who instantly appears when you think a motivated thought and convinces you that you need a nap or a bag of potato chips first, the one who wants you spend your life being a squash.

The way to avoid making life easy for the zucchini god is to purposefully design the neural pathways you want to create—the ones that will lead you toward the actions that are aligned with your vision of who and how you want to be, what you want to accomplish and attain. 

And the way that you do that is by getting clear about what it is that you want.  That doesn’t mean you have to set huge goals or create lofty or long-range visions.  Your intention can be as short-range as a day, or even less.  But decide what is it you want and put it into words for yourself.  Ideally, write them down somewhere that you’ll throughout the day as a reminder.  That adds the fuel of attention to your intention.  And attention plus intention is the key.  It’s the magic formula. 

The more attention you give to your intention—even if you only read it or remember it—the more you’re building the neural pathways that your thoughts can travel to take you where you want to go.

When you catch yourself traveling down a pathway of limitation, throw a big bright “Detour” sign into the middle of it and turn your attention, your focus, to your intention.  Remind yourself what it will feel like to be and do the things you want to be and do: kinder, braver, more persistent, more in control, more creative, more appreciative, more in charge of your choices. 

Then take whatever action you can to move toward the object of your intention, even if it’s nothing more than squaring your shoulders, slowing your breathing to relax into the moment, and putting on a smile.

You can continue to grow deeper pathways of limitation, or focus your attention on moving on a trajectory toward your true desires.  

It’s like the old American Cherokee story about the two wolves. One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.

He said, “My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us all.

“One is Evil – It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

“The other is Good – It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: “Which wolf wins?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

Decide to dedicate your neurons to the things that bring you joy and satisfaction.  Name your intentions, then feed them with all the attention you can muster. 

And may your good wolf win!

Warmly,
Susan

Image by Andrea Bohl from Pixabay

The Song’s Return

I’m still a quarter mile from the marsh
when I hear them, the red-winged blackbirds,
the males singing conk-la-ree, the last note
sharp and rising, and the females answering
chak-chak-chak in applause. My approach
alarms the males and they fly from the reeds
to the tops of the budding maples, where
they continue their songs. The sun
is glinting off the waters, the bleached
cattails glowing golden in the light.
A pair of mallards, fresh from my dreams,
floats in slow circles near the far shore.
I stand on the hill, glad as the day
to be here, watching, hearing the song.