I scan the morning’s headlines over coffee. It’s the usual nightmare of conflict, corruption and crime. As if I’d swallowed a cup of cement, the news pulls me down, burying the morning’s hope in its weight. But then I notice that the sun is shining, and it pulls me out the door. My eyes see the clear sky, the light filtering through the summer leaves. My heart , however, is still heavy with sorrow for us all. “Go to the park,” a soft voice whispers inside me. “Take a walk, clear your head.” So I go.
After a while, I wander toward the garden. And there, perched atop an echinacea, a tiny creature looking like a winged horse, its face painted like a circus pony, sits sipping nectar. “Are you real?” I ask, astonished. But there is no doubting it. Or the song that my heart begins to croon. Here, in this now, is Yes, is beauty. Here, in this now, reality expands, filled with joy and waking. And everything else is but dream.
They whisper their little, shy hellos, surprised to find you smiling at their starry pastel faces. As hidden as they are, visitors are few, except, of course, for the ants and beetles who come daily with neighborhood news. In fact, at first they weren’t quite sure that you were real, given your enormous size. But they saw the delight dancing in your eyes and felt the heart-warmth of your smile. And that quite easily convinced them. There’s no mistaking love, and nothing, after all, is so unquestionably real.
It began when the firmament separated from the waters. It was the first song, carrying all the peace and power that the universe contains, expressing all the love of the Yes and all the joy.
It washed in, and flowed out, and its rhythm has continued to this day. And all creatures everywhere know its sound, whether they have stood on a sea’s shore or not, for it is the breathe of God, and its life and comfort swirls ceaselessly in great currents ‘round the globe, and in sacred rivers in the bodies of all beings who dwell here.
And if you are still, you will hear its secrets rising from your heart, and its song will bring you endless peace.
Few, driving past it, notice the old iron bridge. It’s fallen into disrepair after all these years. But my 80-year-old neighbor remembers when a road crossed it, leading to the school. Once a saw mill, a grist mill, houses and stables lined the creek here. The man who built them bought fifteen acres of land for $1200. Lives as real and dramatic as ours, come and gone. Pay attention. Notice the remnants of what was. Cherish the reality of this swiftly passing world. A future most can’t even imagine is quickly gobbling us up.
The day lily chose today to open. When you’re a day lily, you only get one, you know. Well, maybe two or three if you’re strong and lucky. So you have to make the best of it, to give it all you’ve got, to take this splendid gift of hours and breathe in all the world’s sights and sounds, to offer it your boldest colors, your purest song. And when your day is done, to carry with you, sharp and clear, the memory of every incredible moment that it was your honor to live.
Truth is simple. You can curve it all you want, embroider its gowns, stretch it into elaborate fables. But in the end, it’s still the irreducible essence.
It’s the light, shining from the center of all things. It’s the life, endlessly emerging. It’s the love, streaming boundlessly from the heart of the Yes. It rides our breath. It unfolds through our being, through the being of all things.
Today, in my garden, It’s a patch of little blossoms beaming their joy on a warm summer day.
Last week we looked at Step One of the “Recipe for Happiness – Letting Go of What’s Gone.” Now let’s look at Step Two: “Be grateful for what remains.”
I could go on and on about the uplift that gratitude brings. It’s on my short list of favorite emotions. And, farther down, I will share a way you can tap into it when you need an inner vacation. But a lot of us are struggling to cope with serious losses these days, and I want to suggest that gratitude can provide a healing balm for the deepest pain.
In times of profound loss, we can slide into pools of grief so deep that life seems completely devoid of meaning. Someone in the pits of grief might say, “What’s the point of going on? I am nothing without all that’s gone.” Everything has changed, and the unknown future can look bleak, without a glint of joy. I know that I felt that way for a while when a cherished loved one died. But, like most of us who encounter that soul-deep, empty feeling, I trudged on.
In the thick of terrible fighting, back in World War II, Winston Churchill told his people, “When you’re going through hell, keep going.” It’s good counsel to remember. Because, you know, life changes.
And time truly heals. When my son died, a wise friend told me that the pain never goes away, but in time, it finds a little corner of your heart in which to dwell. Decades have passed since then, and now and then I visit that little corner of my heart. I can only call what’s happened in that corner “beautiful.” The pain has condensed into a little dark cloud, and it floats across a vast sea of golden memories. I can see that beloved face again, glowing and wonderful, and hear that laugh, and I see that this shimmering ocean–which contains all that he was to me–is a priceless treasure.
Time can do that. Give yourself time. Keep going. And maybe somewhere along your path, you’ll hear Tara Brach’s guidance to say to yourself, “This is suffering. Everybody suffers. May I be kind.” Be kind to yourself as best you can. And be kind to others. They’re part of the “everybody” who knows suffering.
So that’s the first rule: Keep going. And as you go, practice letting go of all that is in the past. Be assured, the memory will remain and after a while, you’ll gain perspective on it. What you want to let go is your clinging to it. “You can’t stop thoughts from entering your mind,” somebody once told me, “but you don’t have to entertain them.” You have better things to do. You could, for instance, look around, see what’s left, and be thankful for it.
One of the ways you can do that is to tune in to your senses, one by one. What are you seeing? What do you hear? What textures and pressures do you feel against you skin–from head to toe? What can you smell? Taste? Consider what an amazing thing each sense is, bringing you all this information about your surroundings, telling you that you’re still alive, and here, in this unfathomable world. Then tap into your sense of gratitude and send a thought of thanks to your senses, to your body, to the life force within it. Maybe you’ll become aware of the marvel that air is moving in and out of you, all of its own accord. It’s carrying waves of color and fragrance and sound, and light is traveling through it, and it enters you and feeds you. You are what remains when you let all that has passed be past. And everything you truly need is inside you.
Once you embrace that, you’re ready for Step Three in the “Recipe for Happiness,” the one that challenges you to look forward to what’s ahead. We’ll wrap up this little series with that one next week.
In the meantime, may your heart rest in gratitude, for all that you are, all that you contain, and for the countless wonders that surround you.
We name things: rock, water, earth, grass, trees, leaves, sky. But in truth it’s all a whole —one song, one dance—no more separate than eye from elbow in the whole of you.
The elements flow from form to form, supporting and nourishing all. Your breathing is no different from that of the trees. The same light falls on us all, the same rain. The same love brings us into being —you, me, the earth, the stream, the trees— grows us, dissolves us, raises us transformed.
Standing here you feel the force of it whispering in silent thunder beneath all things. You breathe with the water, with the earth, with the leaves. Your heartbeat and the song of the birds and of the rippling waters are one. Truth lives here, flowing through you. Feel its grace. Be at peace.
It matters that you see and remember because you are the Keeper, the one charged to hold this moment as clearly as you can. Imprint it indelibly on your mind, so that one day, when such things as wild summer roses have forever disappeared, you will be able to tell how they were real, and delicate, and how they let you know that you, too, were real, breathing their fragrance, touched by sweet beauty, hearing their life-song singing in your soul. Look closely, with open eyes and a welcoming heart. You are the Keeper. Remember.
The faces of the daisies beam at me from the field radiating sunshine from their centers.
I think how we used to pick them when we were young, saying “Loves me. Loves me not” as we counted their petals, one by one. The last petal was supposed to reveal the truth.
Relationships don’t always run smoothly or continue forever. They run their courses; they have their cycles. But today, as I waived goodbye to the smiling face of a visiting friend, I realized something my childhood game didn’t tell us.
Once hearts touch, the only truth is “Loves me.” Always.
