~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
If you aren’t paying attention to such things
you may not have noticed the mist of faint pink
at the tips of the maples’ twigs. It’s subtle,
this waking. Maples, after all, have deep dreams.
They don’t burst from their sleep all at once.
They simply stretch a bit as the first sap rises
and take on a rosy glow at the taste of it.
(May the glow summon robins!)
This is the start of it, you know – spring,
this time of the waking of the maples.
I saw it all at once, looking down
from the little walking bridge, the whole progression:
Boulder, rock, stone, sand. The whole story
told in this one, small space.
It takes eons. The grinding with nothing
more than friction, much like the bow
on the strings of a cello, but made
of water and wind. Why not?
If you have endless time, why not?
I had no plan to climb this ridge.
I was following a winding brook,
pale gold in the light of winter’s
afternoon sun, when the pines
caught my eye, their soft boughs
green against the faded russet
of their fellow oaks’ fallen leaves.
It’s like that sometimes.
A part of me I cannot name rises
from my center to wordlessly point
the way. I have learned to heed it.
And standing here, on a February day
in the midst of these pines, I know why.
I climb the hill, try to see if they left enough
of the patch where the coltsfoot grows
when they mowed to the slope’s edge.
They had to. It’s where they get water
to fill the pumper truck for fighting fires.
I can’t tell, but I’m betting the coltsfoot
will make a showing just a few weeks from now.
They have a mission, after all.
I smile thinking of them as I reach the top
of the bank and turn to see the cattails,
all fuzzy atop their tall, straight stems,
and the brilliant, still pond behind them,
and the thin, graceful trees. I walk
the hilltop around the reservoir’s edge,
caught by the reflection of the ivory reeds
on the dark teal water. I am alone here.
I hear the silence. No red-winged blackbirds.
No bugs. No frogs. Not even a breeze.
Just this cold, clear winter air, and the sky,
and all this!
Take the warmth that melts your heart’s ice
and send love flowing free. Send it over the banks,
past all the boundaries. Send it to all the parched places.
Let it seep into their soil and revive them.
Deny it to no one, to nothing;
love that is conditioned isn’t love at all.
Call to the sun. Ask it to release every frozen bit of you.
Let its blaze teach you fearlessness and joy.
Some days, all you can do is keep slogging through.
That’s enough, you know, and valiant in its own way.
Anyone can skip in the sunshine, revel in the colors
of a sunset, join in the drama of a good storm.
It’s the ordinary days, when the color is drained,
and all that’s left to pull you forward is duty,
days where your true measure is made.
On such days, throw kisses to the gray sky anyway.
You’re breathing, after all, and surely that in itself
is a wonder, and a cause for awe and celebration.
I ran across an article recently about the difference it makes in one’s career success to have a good natured personality. People who make other people feel good, it turns out, are not only well-liked, they tend to get compensated with higher earnings, regardless of their skill level. So keep flashing that great smile of yours, and do all those things you need to do keep yourself in tip-top shape. (You know–eat wholesome foods, drink enough water, get enough sleep and keep that body in motion.) You’re so much more fun to be around, after all, when you’re feeling really well.
But even if you’re feeling a bit dragged out, you can still lift others’ spirits. Practice looking someone right in the eyes and telling them something they did well that you noticed. Don’t simply compliment a trait like how nice they look or how smart or strong they are. Instead, specifically mention something that they did well, with efficiency, or thoughtfulness, with attention to detail, or with obvious effort or preparation, or with apparent ease or grace.
Practice on store clerks and waitresses, on your partner, on your kids. According to some recent research in positive psychology, this one skill generates strong positive emotions for both you and the person you noticed. It creates a feeling of genuine human bonding. We all like to be appreciated.
Just looking someone in the eyes and giving them a sincere smile can lift their mood, too—and yours. When a sincere compliment about someone’s actions doesn’t come readily to mind, practice this as “Step One,” while you work on noticing things that others do well.
A second skill you can practice to increase your value to others is to take time to listen attentively; it’s a rare skill, and it makes other people feel that they’re real for you. In fact, philosopher and theologian Paul Tillich says listening is “the first duty of love.”
Humor and optimism, of course, are fabulous spirit-lifting tools. Keep ‘em tucked in your pocket all the time. They can bring instant perspective and relief to a huge range of situations. You don’t have to be a comedian, just learn to see the humor in everyday life. I’ve found it great fun, especially when it’s one of those days when everybody around you seems a bit crazy, to imagine you’re all characters in a sit-com. It keeps you from getting caught up in the fray, and when you’re lightened-up, it subtly impacts everybody around you. As for optimism, as I wrote a couple weeks ago, just hold yourself open to the possibility that everything may work out just fine.
Notice. Listen. Be of good cheer. That’s the formula. Give it a try. After all, as the poet W.H. Auden said, “We are here to do good to others.” Then he added, “What the others are here for, I don’t know.”
I have a feeling Mr. Auden was well-liked.
Wishing you a generous, spirit-boosting week!
Warmly,
Susan
Image by CreativeMagic on Pixabay
Wherever you are, there you are,
the old man told his grandson.
Own your own road. Be content in its charms.
Feel its endlessness and possibilities.
Just claim it. Say,“Yes, this is mine.
I am who I am, and I’m here.”
There’s no need to excuse or defend,
he said. Others will respect that
and will grant you your due.
They’ll see that the road is a part of your being,
that you belong to it and it belongs to you.
And that is exactly as it should be and is.
And it’s full, my son, and rich, and fine.
On the last day of clouds, or at least
that’s what they say, the last day
of this muted masterpiece, I walk
along the edge of the lake at Brady’s Run.
The air is moist and right on the edge
of freezing, so that I am wide awake
and everything is intense and clear,
the colors, the whispers of the lake’s ripples,
of their soft lapping on the shore, the sound
washing between these hills, the high wind in
the cottony clouds, the faint tapping
of the trees’ naked branches. Beyond that,
no sound. Only this symphony of the lake,
and the hills, and the light, and the trees,
On this, the last day, for now, of clouds.
Listen, I know there are explanations
for these hieroglyphs. But the how
of it is irrelevant. It’s not the origin
of Shakespeare’s pen, the source
of his ink or paper that speaks to us.
It’s the story. So much is there,
waiting to unfold for you as you listen.
I would tell you what happened for me
as I let this bit of tree art speak.
It was quite a vivid dream.
But I prefer to leave it up to you
to see for yourself, or not, as you will.
Nevertheless, look at the colors
on the wooden canvas skin
on the trunk of this old,fallen tree!