~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
It matters, I believe, that we remember
these moments of beauty, that we impress
them into our souls. And not only the sight
of them and their fragrance and sounds,
but the way they touched a deeper truth
within us. And it is that which is important
for us to recall—the way they sang to us
of the Yes from which they arose,
and us with them, in a mystery surpassing
comprehension and beyond all time.
I’m writing this at night, and thunder is rolling through the sky. I’m one of those people who loves thunder, thanks to my mom and dad.
I grew up on the shores of Saginaw Bay in Michigan and our house had an enclosed sunporch that looked out over the water. Sometimes when it stormed at night, my parents would wake me from my sleep and tuck me between them on the sofa to watch lightning dance across the horizon ,and lighting up the waves. It was as good as 4th of July fireworks, only cozier, a private show just for the three of us. I loved it.
I remember falling asleep to the fragrance and sound of rain on nights like that. And to this day, nighttime rain feels like a loving lullaby.
But tonight, I’m also thinking how blessed I am that the concussions that roll through the sky are thunder, and nothing more, that I can hear them without fear, that they are not rockets or bombs. It’s only an accident of birth that puts me here, out of harm’s way. I am not here, in this place of peace, because I am special in some way. Any of us could as easily be cowering at the sounds of sirens, or at the quivering of the air, as sitting comfortably in our homes.
And none of us can say, in today’s uncertain world, that the peace we enjoy today will endure.
But life has never been certain. None of us knows, when we wake in the morning, what our days will hold. That’s part of the wonder of it all.
A friend of mine, a woman I’ve known since childhood, posted on Faceboook that she turned on the news and was filled with dismay at all the turmoil in the world. “Nothing good is happening anywhere!” she said.
A couple people commented that they agreed. The world was in the proverbial hand-basket heading straight to hell.
Then a wise voice chimed in. “Plenty of good things are happening in the world,” the writer said. “People are getting married, having babies, dancing, enjoying sunsets and walks on the beach. Take your dog for a walk. Then you will be one of the good things that’s happening in the world right now.”
“Amen,” I thought. We can’t stop wars or weather. But we can be one of the good things that’s happening in the world. We can walk our dogs, hug our kids, sing our songs, or revel in the fragrance and sound of rain. We can tip the scale towards joy, and gratitude, and celebration. We can be the love that’s happening in the world right now.
And I kind of think that’s exactly what the world wants from us, and needs.
Let’s get out there and be scale-tippers. It’s the least we can do, don’t you agree?
Wishing you golden moments.
Warmly,
Susan
Rain fell today. The last time
it rained, the maple was still green.
Then, day by day, the tree transformed
into a bouquet of crimson and scarlet
so vivid against the azure sky
that I couldn’t imagine a scene
more intense. But today it rained,
and I stood at the window stunned
and staring in awe at the wet limbs
and polished leaves, streaming
their colors across the day as if
it was the first day that color
ever touched the world.
Consider this: Everything you needed
to get this far appeared somehow
or other. Food, drink, shelter, lessons.
And the lesson in that is there’s no reason
ever to be afraid. The Yes produces
berries for the birds on their journey
and winds to flow beneath their wings.
Trust in that, and fly on in peace.
This is what the trees live for, these golden days
when their leaves show the colors of their souls,
when they can bestow their final blessings
and sing the season’s triumphant hoorah.
These days, when the October sunshine
rolls through their branches and down
the hill, setting their hearts aflame.
These are the days they live for,
the days of magnificence
that crowns their work with joy.
For a few minutes, here and there, the blue
appeared between the low, thick clouds,
barely long enough for the sun to break through.
Nevertheless, the gold of the trees is so vivid
that, even if it’s not quite compensation
for all we have to carry as we go, it certainly
does encourage one, doesn’t it!
Suddenly the earth crunches beneath my feet,
the soft grass covered with newly fallen leaves.
I listen, laughing inside with delight. A year
has passed since this music last played,
this autumn sound, filled with nostalgia
and bright, childlike joy.
You can tell me the how of it all that you want,
explaining the way the light rays bend
around the curviness of earth,
and how their travel through the atmosphere
produces all these colors. It doesn’t change things
or answer the why. Beauty wasn’t a necessity.
Yet here it is, glowing despite the day’s clouds.
I say it is a gift, a love note from the Yes,
just because.
Nobody planned it. Hardly anybody
pays it much attention. A glance
as you round the curve, watch
for the crossroad at the top of the hill.
But here it is, the wild stuff, spilling all the way down
from the orchard where red and yellow apples grow
in neat rows, bordered by mown green grass.
And if you were lucky enough to pull over,
park at the base of the driveway that disappears
into some woods and walk across the road,
you could stand here in the shadowed light,
caught in its spell, struck by the rampant order,
the subtle harmony of boisterous color,
and most of all, how it simply happens,
without a human thought at all.
I have to confess that it’s been work to keep a positive perspective on life of late. I keep getting news about misfortunes in my circle of close friends. I’m frustrated with new software that seems to make no sense to me. My house needed sudden and unexpected repairs. And in the larger world, well, you have only to turn on the news to see that things appear to be coming apart at the seams.
What’s helped me the most is accepting that this is life. And gosh! Good or bad, I get to live it. I get to experience the whole range of human emotions – Not only shock, disappointment, anxiety and grief, but gratitude, serenity, hope, and joy as well.
And by accepting, I mean allowing myself to experience whatever emotion is flowing through me at any given time. Not to fight it. Not to push it away. Not to want to hold onto it. Not to judge myself for it. But simply to let it be and to feel it.
It helps, too, to look at the story I’m telling myself about whatever circumstance I find myself in, and to ask myself, in Byron Katie fashion, whether it’s true and whether I can be certain, and how I would be without that story.
When I do that, I often find an old Zen story coming to mind that reminds me that none of us has any idea how things will turn out, or what fortunes await us. Here’s a version of that story that I found years ago online:
Once upon the time there was an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. “Such bad luck,” they said sympathetically.
“Maybe so;maybe not,” replied the farmer.
The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. “How wonderful,” the neighbors exclaimed.
“Maybe so; maybe not,” the old man said.
The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune.
“Maybe,so; maybe not” answered the farmer.
The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son’s leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out.
“Maybe so; maybe not,” said the farmer. . . .
That story has served me well over the many years since I first heard it. I hope it will stick with you and serve you, too, when you’re tempted to label your circumstances as ‘good’ or ‘bad.’
And finally, the beauty of autumn has held me in its arms and reminded me that for everything there is a season, and that the seasons turn. And this is life. And we get to live it. And that, my friends, is miracle enough and then some.
Wishing you a week of perspective, brushed with autumn’s beauty.
Warmly,
Susan