In days of sunshine and those of trial, whether by happenstance or choice, life sends us the gift of companions for our journey, spirits to walk beside us, to share our laughter and our tears, our stories and our silences. Some stay only for moments, bringing a word, a look, a smile. Some come, then go, then reappear. Some walk beside us for long miles, for lifetimes, and maybe more. Love, after all, never dies. And it is Love that sends them, these companions, that each of us may know that we are never truly alone.
Here’s where the deer lie, sheltered by sycamores, cooled by the green leaves of tall wild sunflowers, the sun filtering down to kiss their pelts with warmth. This is the place they dream of in winter, the place they sing of in lullabies to newborn fawns in early spring when they lick their soft hair and promise them tomorrows filled with flowers and sunshine.
A couple decades ago, I began my online writing career with a now-defunct site called “The Magical Mirror Machine.” It was a continuation of a paper newsletter of the same name that I sent to people who signed up for it at The Mind’s Eye, a metaphysical bookstore and art gallery that I ran at the time.
The premise of the Magical Mirror Machine is that the world reflects back to us exactly who we are.
I remembered it this week when a bout of introspection got me to thinking about the way that we often criticize in others the very shortcomings that we’re most blind to in ourselves. If we paid attention to what the Magical Mirror was showing us, we’d have a good idea where we could use a course-correction ourselves.
Try it out. The next time you catch yourself criticizing somebody, think about what you want them to be that you believe they’re not being. Then ask yourself in what ways you are guilty of the same thing.
It can take a little digging. If you’re nagging your roommate because he always leaves his socks on the floor, the Mirror probably isn’t saying that you should be neater yourself. (Although that might be the message. Are you always leaving globs of toothpaste in the bathroom sink?) Instead, the Mirror is often seeing through your surface complaint to a deeper issue.
It could be saying, for instance, that you wish your roommate would be more appreciative of the work you do to keep your environment clean and tidy. In other words, you want more appreciation for your contributions to the household. Hmmm. And just how appreciative are you of his contributions? When’s the last time you sincerely and specifically expressed your thanks for all he does?
The way the Mirror works is that what you put out, it reflects back. If you want to get back something different, try putting it out. If you want to be listened to, listen more. If you want more affection, give more of it.
But don’t forget to look at the merit that the Mirror shows you as well. When you’re keenly interested in something, the Mirror is hinting at one of your strengths. When you’re enjoying making something, it’s reflecting your creativity and skills. When you notice how kind people are, it’s reflecting your own kindness. When you’re laughing, it’s showing you what you enjoy.
And it’s these kinds of messages, the positive ones, that will tell you what will truly enrich your life. Notice when the Mirror is reflecting your best traits, and cultivate those. Learn what makes you happy, what touches your heart, what makes you feel strong and capable and confident, and make a point of doing more of those things.
We always get farther by cultivating our strengths than by trying to fix our weaknesses. And once you know what your strengths truly are, you can draw on them to guide you the next time the Mirror shows you a place that needs a little polishing.
From out of the darkness the gold bursts forth in fiery, rayed blossoms that sing of the power of the sun, blazing life, brimming with joy, dancing to the song of the ever-burgeoning Yes. Away with your dreams of barren endings. This Now, bathed in late-summer perfume, abuzz with bees, is all there is, and its sun will travel with you into all of your tomorrows.
Deep in the woods, the vines turn crimson. But the river still holds summer’s green with its pungent scent and its emerald flowing and its warm and peaceful song. Here, flowers still blossom along the banks, the bees still float from bloom to bloom. And we pull it all inside us, to keep, forever, this sweet incomparable green.
She mixes up some pails of color and hands them to the elves. September is less than ten days away. Let’s give the red and the yellow a whirl. and see how they look in the sun. Let’s see how they mix, how they blend. Don’t go crazy now; just do this one tree—this one, where few will notice. Try a few patterns, some speckles, some stripes. Leave a touch of green here and there. That’s it. Good job. What do you think? Are we ready to go? Let’s start with the sumac and vines, okay?
All day, the air, heavy and damp, pressed against our skin like steamed towels. Not a leaf moved. Even the bees seemed slow, as if they were rowing from one drooped blossom to another. And through it all, one prayer prevailed: Relief! Then, as if this one request had finally reached the required level of ascent, the sky took on the color of marmalade and the trees began to dance in its glow, buoyed by a cool wind filled with the fragrance of rain. And when it came, falling from the luminous sky, all the earth, revived and joyous, sang.
What was that? You wanted butterflies? Let me whisper a secret. So did I— those little wafers of color darting among the flowers, sipping their nectar, tracing happy flutterings in the summer air. Yes! What a delight! May each flower be sweeter for them than the last. May every moment of their lives be filled with perfect joy.
This week, I watched as a series of nasty energy waves ensnared a bunch of folks in my circle of loved ones and acquaintances. A couple of the waves that hit were made of nothing more than incessant aggravations. But some were huge and full of fury. And they came out of nowhere, without precedent or warning. I won’t burden you with details. I will say that I got caught in a couple of them, too.
There was a time when blows as hard as these would have been enough to knock me down and maybe even drown me. But luckily, over the years, I’ve learned how to ride them.
(I like that description, by the way, because it reminds me of an old poster that shows this robed, bearded old guru, soaking wet and riding with outstretched arms and a broad grin on a surf board atop a big, rolling wave. “You can’t stop the waves,” the poster said. “But you can learn how to surf.”)
Ah, yes. Surfing the waves. It’s not a skill that you develop overnight. Well, unless you’re one of those blessed few who are suddenly struck with enlightenment or maybe have a near-death experience that convinces you that in the end all is well.
Nope. It takes practice. It’s one of those things that are simple, but not easy. And it’s not easy because you have to remember to practice it. In essence, it’s a matter of being in the present, of attending to what’s right in front of you, of what you’re doing right now.
We get caught up in playing emotionally charged tapes from our past – like the argument we had with someone this morning, or something somebody said that pushed one of our buttons . Or we get lost in problem-solving for the future, like planning what we could have for dinner or what might happen at the meeting tomorrow. The present zips past without our even noticing. We’re so mesmerized by our mind-movies that what’s right in front of us is absolutely invisible.
I went for a walk once with a friend who suffered from schizophrenia. He was taking his meds and in an upbeat mood that day. As we walked he was telling me about his favorite Broadway plays and singing the lyrics from them with heart and animation, as if he were the star performer on the stage.
Every now and then, I’d point out something in the environment that caught my eye. “Oh! Look at the trim on that house!” I’d say. Or “Isn’t that a beautiful flower!” Then I’d let him talk and sing some more. He sang wonderfully and was very entertaining.
As we got back to my house, I pointed out one more thing that I noticed. He stopped in his tracks and looked at me in wonderment. “Can you do that all the time?” he asked incredulously.
“Do what?” I asked. I had no idea what he meant.
“See what’s out there!” he said.
His comment gave me a profound insight into his situation. The thoughts in his head were so intense that for someone to notice what was in the immediate environment seemed an act of magic.
But the fact is, without being ill at all, most of us spend nearly all of our time lost in our own inner dramas, in our thoughts and our interpretations and our memories and problem solving. We’re just wired that way. We live in our stories instead of in the actual moment that’s unfolding all around us. And we react with our emotions to whatever stories we’re telling ourselves, instead of seeing what is real and choosing how we want to respond.
The key to escaping from these inner movies is simply to practice noticing what’s really going on right now. In fact, that’s a question you can learn to ask yourself: “What’s really going on right now?” (Jot that down and put it somewhere that you’ll spot it from time to time.) Then tune in to the moment. You can practice doing a body scan, for instance, to see where you’re tense right now and let that area soften and relax up a bit. Or notice what your posture is telling you. You can take a sensory break every now and then and notice what data each of your senses is offering you. You can stop from time to time to see how long you can keep your attention on your breathing. You can describe to yourself what you’re doing: “This is me, washing dishes, seeing the soap bubbles, feeling the warm water and the texture of the plates, hearing the sounds they make as I wash them.”
The big benefit of staying in the present is that you learn not to make programmed judgments about what is happening. Things are just happening. Right now. You don’t know where they’ll lead. The future isn’t here yet and could hold anything. So you’re not upset, or giddy, or frustrated, or angry. You’re not projecting into the future or resurrecting reactions from the past. You’re not comparing what’s going on to what you wanted or feared. You’re simply observant, and maybe curious, and probably more awake, and most likely quite appreciative.
Don’t worry; you won’t get stuck there. You’ll still look for the way that events have meaning for your life. You’ll still have real problems that require real solutions. But you’ll look at things from a refreshed perspective, and the rhythm of the waves will be just that – a rhythm that you learn to flow with, atop it all, wet maybe, but balanced and at peace.
Wishing you presence, right here, right now, all week.
