~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
Now and then say a prayer for the tiny birds,
no bigger than a child’s closed hand, who brave
a cold so deep that creatures ten times larger,
a hundred times, cannot endure its chill.
Watch them dance from branch to branch,
from tree to tree, scattering their chirps
like seeds of joy, as if all life were play,
regardless of its hardships.
Maybe that’s the secret these winged ones
came to tell. All is play, made for our gladness,
even when the winds are harsh and cold
and snow falls.
Wherever you are, move back
a quarter mile, float until you’re maybe
twenty feet above the ground, higher
if you like. Notice the lighting of the scene,
the bright tones, the shadows,
the reflections. Stare at the colors,
the way they contrast and blend.
Then let yourself hear the soundtrack
of it all, the way it captures the mood
and makes the whole of it look
like the opening scene of a movie.
Imagine you’re the star. Zoom in
until you see yourself there, ready
to make your next move. What
will it be? How will it feel, with
this vast panorama surrounding you
and this music playing in the air?
Look how the weeds lay here, bent,
leaning, and yet catching the light just so.
The Yes creates such haphazard beauty,
unintended, yet inevitable, I suppose–
an expression of its nature, a variant of its song.
And look how it’s hidden, right here
in plain sight. You could walk by and think it
was no more than a tumble of weeds.
But I think it’s a gift, waiting for an artist’s eye,
or a lover’s.
Here at the beginning of the Year of Magic,
we gather with those of the same feather,
those who know the power of their dreams.
We sit in silence, facing the East, the birthplace
of all the tomorrows, building our visions,
the electric currents humming beneath
our feet, feeling the strength of fellowship
here on the wire at the start of this sacred day.
We read the shapes and colors of the clouds.
We listen to the breathing of the air and hear
the songs of nascent dreams chanting
in one another’s hearts. And when we are filled
with the knowing, we fly off, one by one,
to begin, to do the holy work, to sing the Yes,
to claim the fresh hours as our own.
The very first thought that forms
as I wake from my dreams is,
“It’s the new year.”
I pull back the drapes to an inky sky
still swathed in night, and no doubt
still recovering from the bawdy welcome
that rose as the new year was birthed.
Ten minutes later dawn creeps in,
and the air is filled with a dim pearly mist,
the world beneath it looking quite magical
and mysterious. Then ten minutes more
pass revealing through the mist
trees etched in frost, a sign, I surmise,
that the dream-seeds of the new year
truly had been scattered. And then
the light came, and the etching
of the branches wasn’t frost, but snow.
And it’s falling still, as I write these words.
Of course I snapped photos.
Of course I am smiling
Exactly at Midnight, the frost birds descend
to deliver the dream-seeds of the New Year.
They travel from afar, their wings made of songs
that sing of the limitless possibilities their gifts
hold. One goes to every being on the Earth—
to the curled, sleeping flower-forms, to all
creatures who fly or swim, who walk or crawl,
who stand rooted in the earth, or lay motionless.
There are no exclusions. Those who are taking
their first breath receive them, and those
who are taking their last. And for one glittering
moment, everything in the world feels hope.
At first, I mistook it for patience,
this deep calm surrounding me
as I stood here in the woods,
fallen leaves and branches
at my feet, a holly, tall and green,
standing before me.
But as I lingered, breathing
the cold, moist air, listening
to the silence, feeling
the life of the trees, I knew
it wasn’t patience—
for there was nothing
to endure, no expectation
of better moments
still to come. This,
this moment, was all,
whole and perfect.
This all-pervasive calm
was the whispering of grace.
“Well, here we are,” a voice inside me said, “sliding right into a brand new year.” Then it asked me, “How do you feel about that?”
It turned into a long inner conversation. I listed a bunch of emotions that rose up as I contemplated the question. Excited. Nostalgic. Wary. Hopeful. Open.
“How do you want to feel about it?” myself asked me.
“Open” appealed to me a lot. It seemed a little threatening somehow. It asked me to surrender the sense vulnerability to which I was clinging as if it was a trusted teddy bear that reassured me in the dark. But still, I really wanted to chose it above the all the other possible responses. I suppose it will take some practice, I told myself. But I had a sense it would be worth it.
So I announce to myself that I definitely choose openness. And myself says back to me, “Prove it. Say ‘Bring It On! ‘” I have to gulp first, and my voice barely comes out at first. But finally I say it, in a clear and determined voice. “Bring It On, New Year. Bring whatever you hold. And I will be open to it, and accept it with all the welcome I can muster.”
To my surprise, all of a sudden I flashed back to an image of my old friend Lori. When I drove her somewhere in my car, she would help gauge the traffic at intersections. She’d lean forward, looking to the left and right with hawk’s eyes, and when a break in the traffic appeared, she’ d shout, “Go NOW! It’s your only chance!” I laugh picturing her flashing eyes and wind-blown hair.
But hers is a phrase worth remembering. Whatever you want to do or be, now is your only chance to do or be it. Yesterday’s gone and tomorrow isn’t here yet. We can’t even be sure it’s going to come. Or that the next ten minutes will happen. So now is your only chance. Even if you don’t do well what it is that you’re hoping to do, now is your only chance to begin it, to be it. To practice it.
I like the fact that “practice” means both a habitual exercise or rehearsal and a performance. We do something over and over, by intention, with the hope of mastering it.
So I will practice openness. It’s one of those things that it’s better to do clumsily than to do not at all. And the more I practice, the better I’ll get at it.
I thought I’d mention this idea of practicing and beginning it now because even if you don’t make New Year’s Resolutions or set goals (and few of us actually do), we all end up thinking about the things we’d like to be or do differently, with more focus, more art, more efficiency, more dedication. If we decide to keep these ideals top of mind, we’ll find opportunities to practice them everywhere. Go ahead. Try it and see. Pick something you want to achieve and make a full, conscious choice to keep it in mind. Then watch what the world does in response.
I hereby give you this virtual clone of my friend Lori shouting, “Go NOW! It’s your only chance!” Close your eyes and I bet you can hear her right now. See? Cool, hey? You’re welcome.
She’ll activate whenever the world presents you with opportunities to practice your practice of being who you want to be.
Wow. Just imagine what could happen! Ready for anything? If you are, prove it. Say right out loud: “Bring It On!”
Wishing you a grand journey in the days ahead. May they be rich in all that you hold to be good, beautiful and true. Happy New Year, my friends. May you welcome each new moment and everything that it holds.
Warmly,
Susan
Image by F. Muhammad from Pixabay
This is what it looked like on the last Wednesday
in December, an ocean of bleached stubble
rolling all the way to the edge of the woods
on the far horizon.
The neighbor friend I visit each week lives
at the edge of this field, sits out in his garage
with Dozer, his pit bull, and watches the weather
and the seasons change. Last week, he said,
a flock of starlings came in, painting the sky
with the graceful designs of their flight.
He estimates they numbered three hundred thousand.
Imagine the sound!
They come to feast on the remains of the harvest,
the golden kernels scattered on the ground.
And then they go, and the world is still again,
with only a whisper of wind, playing the cut stalks
as if they were its pan pipes.
Now that the earth is asleep
it’s up to the sky
to hold all the colors,
the hues of blossoms
and silken plumage.
It does so luminously,
as a gift, to remind us
that glory is not only possible,
but irrepressible, even
in the dark and the cold.