~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
Except for the edges of the shaded north slopes
and the deep woods in the hollows, the snow is gone.
In its place, a mat of soggy leaves covers the ground.
But more is happening here than meets the eye.
Stand still and you can feel it breathing.
This is the last of winter’s great inhalation, the pulling
back of its bow. And behind the rain and beneath
the mists, miracles are beginning to leap
from the ground, astounding us.
On each of her days, spring brings a gift.
Today, a white hellebore opened,
its petals as white and silken
as angel wings floating above
a cup of pale yellow and lime
in whose center hung a cluster
of heart-shaped ivory seeds,
and all of it so graceful and perfect
that I held my breath in awe.
I always forget how tenderly
spring’s gifts are given, how
deeply they touch my heart.
Nothing got them here but their conviction
that there must be more. Otherwise,
they reasoned, why this incessant pull?
So they let things go as things would go,
not struggling against the heavy dark
or the rigid cold, but following the pull,
pushing through whatever opening appeared
that let them stretch in its direction, never
knowing the pull had its reasons, that
deep within them precious treasure hid.
They knew nothing but the irresistible pull,
and how powerfully it drew them onward.
No wonder, having burst through the soil
into a world of color and sky and song,
they applaud, their tips vibrating with joy.
The lake is nearly still, and standing
on its bank, I am captivated by its colors.
Mostly it’s deep green, but the low sun
sends dazzling gold through the pines
that streaks the lake’s surface between
ribbons of russet and brown where the trunks
of the trees are reflected. I gaze
at it for a long while before I notice
the chunks of white that line the shore
across from where I’m standing. Ice,
my mind says. The last of it. But then,
all at once, a loud honking rips
through the air and the ice
transforms into fat ducks that push off
from the shore and paddle in graceful rows
into the lake’s smooth green, stirring its colors
as if they were artists and the water
their paint.
On your way out the door, smile.
Let your grin linger on the threshold
for a while and roll across the floor
just to let them know, as you leave,
how good it was to be there. Give
them a picture of you to hold
when they think of you
in your absence, when they think
of your coming for another stay.
The squirrel munches away on the corn
that my neighbor put out for him
as she had all winter, his nose twitching
as he sniffs the uncommonly warm air.
He knows what’s coming next, and it’s more
than rain and leaves. It’s the reason why
he breathes. It’s the spark that lights
his fire, the thing that puts the spring
into his leap. It’s the birds and the bees
and the girls in the trees. And he smells
it in the air, and it’s right around the corner.
I’ve been digging in my collection of quotes again this week and found one from Harry Emerson Fosdick that made me stop and think. I like it when that happens, when a sentence or two makes me want to take stock and see how I can add more sizzle to my life.
Here’s Fosdick’s statement: “Rebellion against your handicaps gets you nowhere. Self-pity gets you nowhere. One must have the adventurous daring to accept oneself as a bundle of possibilities and undertake the most interesting game in the world – making the most of one’s best.”
It reminded me of a story I once read about a man who was legally blind, yet, by training himself to focus on the small amount of sight he had, he was able not only to navigate his ordinary world, but eventually to drive a car. He went on to develop a highly successful system to train people with infirmities of various kinds to transcend their difficulties by devoting their attention to whatever abilities they did have. He took that “most interesting game” and played it for all it was worth.
He looked for the possibilities and made the most of the tiny sliver of sight that was his best. Then he saw the possibility of showing others how to do the same and made the most of that, too.
Have you ever dared to think of yourself as a “bundle of possibilities?” What if you did? What possibilities would you find? If you were going to make a list of the things that you considered the best of you, what would you put on your list?
And once you had such a list, suppose you looked at it and asked yourself how you could make the most of these things. What if you let your imagination run wild and blocked out all the “yeah-but’s” that tried to sneak in? What if you opted to play the most interesting game and to imagine how you could make the most of your best?
What would that look like? What would you do? How would you be?
The mere act of imagining your best self opens you to broader, more possibility-laden thinking. That’s a proven fact. Spend 20 minutes describing your best self in writing and see how you feel.
But what if you were to take it beyond mere imagining? What if you decided to go all in and play this most interesting game for real, to focus on something you did well, or were ardently attracted to doing, and made the most of it?
You could start with just one thing, one possibility, one of your favorite things about you and express it 2% better today than yesterday, by intention, because you chose to play the game. Then tomorrow you could do it 2% better than today, and so on. And the thing that was one of the best things about you would get even better and better, and it would pull some of the other things that are good about you right up with it.
Imagine how interesting life would become! And all because you decided to play this, the most interesting game in the world.
Wishing you a week of intriguing discoveries and ideas!
Warmly,
Susan
Image by InspiredImages from Pixabay
Some irresistible part of puddles
calls to toes, even those of giants.
Maybe it’s the sheer muddiness,
the squish, the wet, the way
It lets you feel glued to the ground
and still free to wiggle.
Maybe it’s the way the puddles show you
how you look against sky, or the fact
that they sing of spring and bring
forth worms and tadpoles. Maybe
it’s the here-today-gone-tomorrow
part of them that makes you think
you’d better wade right in while
the wading’s good. Toes know.
They hear the call. And in they go.
It’s irresistible.
Sploosh! Now there’s a sure sign of spring–
car tires swishing through puddles on the road,
spraying the sooty heaps of snow into oblivion.
And the puddles themselves are proofs too,
mirroring the budding trees and the dance
of the ever-changing clouds in the high sky.
There’s no stopping it now. It’s here, come what may.
Why, I can almost hear the peepers singing.
Soon now. It won’t be long.
Okay, little lamb. You did it.
Laying there in the new grass,
your baby hooves tucked up,
your ears poked out, your face
wearing that little lamb smile,
you stole my heart. My eyes
send you pets as warm as
this new spring sunshine,
and I sing you welcome,
little one. Oh, baby!
You stole this old girl’s heart.