~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
One of the things that the Great Yes wanted to experience
was being a maple tree whose leaves would turn red in fall.
And so it did. And on one perfect October afternoon
when the air was cool and the warm sun was shining
through its red leaves, the maple danced, and the Great Yes
sang from within its very atoms in perfect, absolute joy.
I see. Your verses tell the depth
of your history, a lineage stretching back
into the mists of time, your ancestors
coal now. And more recently,
your joyous sonnet sings, how you burst
fresh and green from tight buds
and how you spent the summer
singing with ten hundred birds
before you followed them
into the sky and then falling, here,
to the breast of Mother Earth,
surrendering yourselves to her
in this one last gift of beauty.
And all the days between
the bursting and the fall,
your lines reveal, were rich
and full beyond all expectations.
I see. Here in your lines and colors
I read your song. And I am
blessed. Rest well.
This beauty, this air, these cycling seasons,
this round wondrous rock on which we stand,
these trees, every blade of grass, every drop of rain,
this glorious sunshine, this wild, tumultuous variety
of dancing colors and sizes and forms, all of this was given,
without charge. Not to an elite, however defined.
Not conditioned by anyone’s notion of worthiness.
But freely, to us all, as messengers of joy.
Some little flowers, having no calendars
to go by, just keep on keeping on. They have
their own rhythms and reasons and rules.
They dance to their own songs. And
thank God for that. I mean, just when
we thought the flowers were gone,
here they are, stepping onto the stage
singing. Right here, smack dab
in the middle of October.
I walk along this golden creek,
through this season so brief and beautiful,
and think of you.
Who knows which breath will be our last?
Our lives are as fleeting as the colors of this day,
as easily washed into memory.
But while we live, let us live richly.
Like this amazing afternoon,
let us shine our gold and sing our colors to the sky.
And when we go, may the glow of our being linger
in the hearts and minds of all whose lives we touched,
and may they be better and more joyous for having known
our laughter and our kindness and our love.
A host of lore abounds
telling how your coat,
dear woolly bear, predicts
what winter will hold.
The greater the brown,
the milder the season;
an abundance of black
means plenty of snow.
Here’s what I know:
You’re a sure sign
that winter is near
and we would be wise
to don woollies
of our own.
Autumn’s hues are bursting out everywhere now.
The ancient, stately maples are drenched in crimson,
the climbing vines wear deep red. All around me
yellow beech leaves shower down like coins tossed
as tokens of good fortune. Beneath my boots
fallen sycamore leaves crunch like cornflakes.
And along its side, a circus of color makes me stop
and laugh, its gaudiness looking as if someone
sent the kids out to play with a tin of paints,
wholly free of from rules and supervision.
It sure looked happy. And beautiful.
And I wore the smile it gave me all the way
to the end of the trail.
I happened across an interview with Dannion Brinkley this week that presented a new way to look at how I interact with people. (Dannion’s best known for his descriptions of his three Near Death Experiences and what they taught him. You can search for his books on Amazon if you’re interested, or find him on Youtube or Facebook.)
One of the experiences Dannion had while he was clinically dead was undergoing a “Life Review.”
We’ve all heard the claim that “your whole life flashes before you” as you’re dying. Dannion says that what we’re not told is that we don’t see our life as if we’re living it again. We see it from the point of view of every person we ever encountered. We experience the thoughts and emotions that our interactions with them created in them—the warmth, the uplift, the comfort, the encouragement, and the hurt, the anger, the indifference, the discounting, the isolation.
It sounds sort of like the 360-degree feedback sessions some companies use for employee evaluations, where your co-workers and maybe even your customers say what it’s like to deal with you. Only the Life Review isn’t a mere report from people. It’s far more intense. It’s actually experiencing yourself from the other person’s point of view—seeing your face, your expression, whether you looked at them or gazed away, hearing what they heard from you, your words, your tone of voice, feeling what they felt during every exchange they ever had with you.
Regardless of what you make of Dannion’s story, imagine that you were offered an invitation to undergo such a ‘life review.’ Think about the important people in your life—your parents, your partner, your siblings, your kids, your neighbors and coworkers and friends. Think about your pet. Would you welcome a chance to see yourself through their eyes? Through the eyes of the person you most recently talked with? Or would you maybe rather not?
What if you did a mini life-review for yourself each evening as you tucked yourself in for the night? Would you be pleased with the way you treated other people in your life that day? Would you be motivated to be more patient, more attentive, kinder, more aware of their needs?
I turned the idea into a game for a day. I imagined that everyone I encountered had the letters “LR” for “Life Review” written in invisible light on their foreheads. It turned out to be a good game. The only rule was the golden one: treat them as I would want to be treated. On the whole, the day was filled with genuine connection and smiles. As a bonus, I got some insights into situations where I need to pay more attention to the way I respond to some people, and that’s always a good thing. More patience, more clarity, more connections, more smiles.
It was an exercise in full-immersion empathy, putting myself in the other person’s position, imagining what they most needed or wanted from me. Mostly they just wanted to seem real to someone, to be recognized, respected as a fellow being, appreciated. That’s what all of us want, I suppose. I know that when you offer someone that much, they glow. And you do, too.
Wishing you a week that’s bathed in a golden glow.
Warmly,
Susan
Image by Fran • @mallorcadogphotography from Pixabay
The light dances down, falling in colors
on the water, spreading itself
across the welcoming faces of leaves.
From the earth, the scent of autumn rises,
wafting across the mirrored surface
of the creek, melding with the season’s
first ocher hues. And I, standing ankle deep
in asters, breathe in the light and fragrance
and exhale contentment and peace.
Beneath a cloud-heaped sky that dwarfs them,
the cattle graze, happy for their still-green pasture,
the cool air. They may be oblivious to time,
but like the autumn trees that edge their world,
something deep within them knows the seasons.
Perhaps vague memories of winter float
through their minds, long days in the dim light
of the barn, feeding on hay, soaking
in the warmth of each other’s bodies.
Perhaps they smell the coming snow.
Nevertheless, today the pasture is wide
and the grass still green, and they are content,
grazing beneath the big sky.