Sunday Letters – Page 19 – Notes from the Woods

While Waiting for Springtime

I was walking across a familiar section of the park, looking at the frosty ground, when the thought came to me that violets and spring beauties were sleeping there. I will not despair, I said to myself.

The mere thought of spring, with its wild-flower covered grasses, lifted me above the moment’s turmoil and darkness. Life renews itself.

It’s easy to get lost life’s troubles. They’re like a quicksand that pulls us in until all we can see is an endless landscape of confusion, misery and suffering. Thought narrows when we’re stuck in our fears, apprehensions and pain. It’s designed to work that way, allowing us to focus on the details so we can puzzle our way out.

But it’s good to remember that while pain is inescapable, suffering is not. Even while in the pain’s grip, we are free to see beyond it. We can direct our attention elsewhere. We can call forth golden memories; we can plan, and imagine, and dream. And when we do, light comes, and our consciousness expands and is free.

We create the world we live in. We may not create its events, but we choose how we will respond to them, and how we will shape them in our minds. When we find ourselves in troubling circumstances, or when events occur that shock or repel us, it’s wise to ask ourselves, “Who do I want to be in the face of this?”

Ask that, and allow your higher self to whisper its answers. Then act on them. Adopt the posture they require. Act the part. Call on your wealth of capabilities.

We live in worlds of limitless possibilities. Our options are always more than we suspect, and often they’re only an idea away. Ask for answers. Allow them to come. Sometimes all it takes to trigger one is a different point of view, a change of attitude or of scenery, whether real or imagined. Sometimes all it takes is to put a smile on your face.

Even in the darkest times, you still have breath and a beating heart. And darkness always has an end. While you wait for it, decide who you will be. Decide what you can do in the midst of it, and how you would like, someday in the future, to look back on these times and the choices that you made.

Beneath the hard and frozen ground on which we walk, flowers sleep. Life renews itself. Spring will come. Imagine that! And taste its hope and joy.

Warmly,
Susan

Never Stop Believing

Never stop believing. . .
in miracles
in your hunches, intuition and dreams
in your ability to make a positive difference
in your ability to reach, and learn, and grow
in your capacity to have fun
in the power of your touch, your words, your smile
in the magic of laughter
in the generosity of others
in the power of your imagination
in your own essential goodness
in the highest, truest, most powerful, loving, and beautiful consciousness you can imagine,
and in your everlasting connection to it.

Never stop believing . . .
that you are lucky
that today is a beautiful day
that truth is power
that attitude is everything
that you are creative and inventive
that you matter
that now matters
that you matter right now
that it’s okay to be human
that you learn from every mistake
that good overcomes evil
that light overcomes the dark
that the person in the mirror is a mere reflection
that you’re free to change your mind
that you can tune in to a higher wisdom
that you are getting better all the time
that love is the answer
that blessings never cease

Never stop believing . . .

Happy New Year, Friends,
Warmly,
Susan

_{Image by sabri ismail from Pixabay}

Here It Comes!

You ready? This is it, you know. The Big Reveal, 2021, comin’ right up. Hang on!

It’s going to be glorious, they say. Biblical even.
The Bethlehem star clinched it for me.
Bring it on!

So here we are, already rolling through earthquakes and tidal waves of energy, my friends.

And this is only the beginning.
We’re just at the start of this ride,
This cosmic roller coaster, as I mentioned before.

What’s that? A voice speaks in my head:
“The kaleidoscopic, multilingual, transcendental. two-ton mustard seed,” it says in a calm, smiling tone.

That was the name of a Sunday night radio show I listened to during the Summer of Love on a station out of Berkeley. I happened to end up there, as it turned out, watching it all unfurl from atop a lighthouse in the San Francisco Bay. But that’s another story.

I liked that the words floated into my thoughts.

You know what the mustard seed represents, don’t you? Faith. The story is that you only need a tiny little speck of it in order to do miracles. I tend to think that’s true.

So imagine what a two-ton seed would do for you. Especially if it was kaleidoscopic, transcendental, and multilingual as well! You’d be invincible! Sure, two tons sounds kind of heavy to carry around, but you have to remember it’s transcendental as well, so you can just let it float above you, beaming you with its kaleidoscopic colors and multilingual tunes.

Invent your life whatever way brings you the most confidence and contentment. It’s up to you.

We’re all going to learn so much in the weeks ahead!

Be your favorite self as you step into this new unknown.

That’s the best any of us can do.

And no matter what the days ahead may hold, isn’t it beautiful that life gives us such fine companions to share the journey? I like that I get to jump into the New Year with you. You!

Let’s do it!

New Year hugs,
Susan

_{Image by Markéta Machová from Pixabay}

Why We Sing

Every day since the start of the month, I’ve been posting – right here on this site – one chapter of the story of Little Pine from the first book of my three-year series. This first volume is called The Magic of the Light’s Return. It details Little Pine’s adventures as the forest and its creatures prepare for the return of the light on the winter solstice. Today, the final chapter is posted. It may be my favorite. It’s called “Why We Sing.”

(If you click over there to read it and decide you want to read the whole story, the beginning of it is here. You can start there and follow the arrows at the end of each chapter that will take you to the next one.)

The story has had me thinking a lot about Christmas.

I don’t think only in words, by the way. Often what I call thinking is really more like going to watch the movies in my head. All kinds of genres play there. Do you do that, too?

Anyway, I was thinking about it being the Christmas season again— that ancient winter holiday, come with all its legends and myths. I was in full humbug mode about it. I get that way every year. I growl at the season’s approach. Sometimes right up to the last minute.

Here’s what I wrote about it in my journal:

Here it is, whatever we might think of it: unavoidably, inescapably Christmas. The music, the lights, the media, the catalogs and commercials. It’s painful. It’s like a slap in the face, reminding us of how it used to be–before 2020 happened–then asking us to pretend it that it never did, so now hop online and buy those presents. (Nevermind that your favorite little stores are closed.)

It’s a heavy time of year.

It’s been a heavy year.

I mean, remember what you were doing a year ago this time of year. Can you? Think about last December, before the world met the words “Covid-19.” Remember what Christmas was like just last year–when the world was still normal? When you were cruising around in a place called Ordinary? When things still made some kind of sense?

Whew! It seems a long time ago, doesn’t it? Now everything’s upside down.

Anyway, I was thinking about how hard the season, this year, will be for so many of us, even those for whom it has no tradition or meaning. It’s the winter, for all of us in the northern hemisphere, of a most extraordinary year. The year where everything changed for everyone everywhere.

Already, the first storm of the winter has blown through. And this is just the beginning.

But think about that, too: It’s just the beginning.

It always is.

So, I was thinking about Christmas and a few fragments of memory began floating through. In my mental movie, I was in a huge old attic, kneeling before a treasure box I hadn’t opened in a long, long time. Inside it were stacks and stacks of DVD’s. “At Grandma’s House.” “Stuck in the Gate.” “A Board for the Bored.” The titles spoke in my mind as I shuffled through them. I’d glance at the cover of each one and then go on to the next one.

It dawned on me that what I was watching in my movie was a picture of how I usually look at my memories. I glance at their labels, casually decide that I know each one’s whole story, having lived it, and move on.

But what if, I thought, I went beyond the labels. What if I took one of those memories out of its sleeve, put it in the slot of my mental player and pressed “Play.” So I did. And it so fun that I wanted to share it with you.

I’ll tell you more details in some other letter. (I’m already taking so much of your time!) The gist of it is this: From your stack of memories, pick one about a holiday that you enjoy. (C’mon. Play along!) What’s your first bright memory about it? Let your attention settle on it for a moment and see how many details you can discover. Where are you? Are you indoors or out? What do you see there? What do you hear? Is anyone else there? Who? What were you doing?

Wander around there, let the memories wander you, guide you, open more of the scene.

Stay as long as you like. Then maybe linger just a bit longer, to be sure that’s really all you want to see of it, of this time that lives so vividly and expansively in your memory.

These are your treasures. You lived these moments. They were real. They are a part of you and your experience. And you know what? They’re a part of you right now. They’re a part of this moment, where you decided to let yourself dig into the treasure box, just for fun, to see what you might find there.

It seems kind of awesome that those memories could be a part of this amazing once-in-a-lifetime-2020-Christmas-season, helping us pay attention to the things that matter in our lives.

That’s pretty big magic, isn’t it?

May some of its glittering light be sprinkled upon you, my dear friend. May you taste of its peace, and of its joy.

Oh, and by the way. Let me remind you that you might have wanted to find out what the little bird had to say about why we sing.

Warmly smiling, and wishing you grand discoveries,

Susan

Defying the Darkness

Sometimes we joy-warriors have to bite our tongues. To give voice to some of our thoughts and observations would go against our creed. Nevertheless, I must confess that we are not immune to the atmosphere of the times; we have our hours of darkness, too.

It’s impossible not to see the destructive forces at play in the world, not to see the confusion, the conflict, and the suffering they produce. But it’s not impossible to withstand them. The key is to realize that to fall into misery yourself is to feed them, to become their victim.

Once you grasp that, you instantly transcend their assault. You take from them all their power. You claim your right to feel joy, to be grateful for life whatever it brings. And you always have that choice. It’s always there. You can give in or stand up. And however much effort it takes to stand, once you choose to do so, to defy the temptation to surrender, you will immediately know that you have won.

It’s a very freeing thing to claim your human dignity. Even if tears of compassion and grief flow from your eyes like rivers as you stand, once you stand, you are free. You are free to embrace life, just as you find it, and to look beyond the flotsam of the darkness to the broad and shining sea of possibilities that is life itself. You’re free to hope, and to trust. You’re free to laugh, even if it’s a laugh of defiance. You’re free to dance and to sing, and to be kind and brave and strong.

And you can be all these things no matter how confining your circumstances. Freedom is a choice, a expression of will, a determination not to bow to self-pity.

That doesn’t mean that you can’t feel sadness or sorrow. It just means you will not allow them to overwhelm you. You give them an appropriate space. You limit their expression to an appropriate time.

Nor does it mean you can’t feel anger at the injustices of life. But anger, too, must be bridled by self-control, used as a fuel to right what wrongs it is within your power to correct–efficiently, and intelligently.

No matter how painful any circumstance may be, every moment also contains its beauty and its goodness. It’s simply a matter of broadening your vision, of seeing things from a higher view.

Discouragement is alluring. It’s a tool of the darkness that aims to pull you into despair. Remember the key; choose not to feed it. Resolve to claim your power to be free.

Much warmth,
Susan

_{Image by Mohamed Hassan from Pixabay}

Maybe So; Maybe Not

I apologize for being unable to send my usual Sunday Letter last week. Did you miss me? I missed you, too! What happened is that my internet connection crashed late Friday. It had been slowing and going in and out for days, but on Friday afternoon, it completely died. I called for repairs and was told they couldn’t be done until “sometime Monday.”

“Oh, no!” I cried. It was the first time in a long while that I would have four consecutive days without outside obligations. I had a big list of pressing projects I could work on undisturbed and I was so looking forward to tackling them. But every one of them required my net connection. My inner child went into a deep funk, stomping her foot and shouting, “Oh Pooh! Pooh! Pooh! Pooh!”

I let her have her tantrum until bedtime. Then I told her everything would be okay, and that the best thing she could do was decide to wake up happy in the morning. To my surprise, she did! And to celebrate her decision, I took her to the park for a long and wonderful walk in the woods.

That night, I suddenly came down with a doozy of a cold that kept me in bed for the next 20 hours.

As I drifted in and out of sleep, I thought about my waiting projects. A couple of my dear fans had asked me to post my “Little Pine” tale again this year. It’s a story I wrote several years ago to welcome the coming holidays. The first year’s version was so popular that I followed it with more Little Pine stories for two years after that. Even with the net down, I decided, I could look it over and make edits. On Sunday and Monday, I did just that. And now the story is unfolding, a chapter a day, right here on this blog. Click here and you’ll find the first chapter. Clicking the link at the chapter’s end will take you to next chapter, and so on. The 7^th chapter will appear later today. (They’re short, quick reads. And before you know it, you’re suddenly immersed in Little Pine’s magical world.)

It would have been easy to let myself stay in a deep pit of frustration and disappointment over my loss of the net, time, and energy all at once. My plans had been severely disrupted. But on Saturday night as my cold meds were kicking in, I remembered the old Zen story, “Maybe so; maybe not.”

It tells about an old farmer whose only horse ran away. He depended on it to do his work. “What bad fortune!” the villagers said when they learned what had happened. “Maybe so; maybe not,” the old farmer replied.

Two days later, the farmer’s horse returned, bringing with him four beautiful wild horses. “What good fortune!” the villagers said. “Maybe so; maybe not,” the old farmer replied.

When the farmer’s son was working to tame one of the wild horses, he fell and broke his leg. The villagers lamented, “How terrible!” “Maybe so; maybe not,” the old farmer replied.

A week later, the national army rode into town, forcing all able-bodied young men to join them in an ongoing war. Because his leg was broken, the farmer’s son was left behind. “Such good fortune!” said the villages. “Maybe so; maybe not,” the old farmer replied.

None of us knows what the day will hold or what the repercussions will be of any event that happens. No matter how sure we are that this situation or that happening will unfold in a certain way, life has a way of surprising us. “The only way to keep from being fooled,” I heard a guy say, “is to keep from drawing conclusions.”

In these uncertain times in which we live, I think that’s probably very good advice.

Warmly,
Susan

_{Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay}

Let It Shine

Anybody can cry about the things in life they lack. We all have our dreams of greener pastures. But the truth is it’s not tears that turn the barren spots green. It’s the life-giving sunlight of joy that transforms them.

And here is how you make the sun rise in your life, even in the depths of your darkest night: Give thanks!

You’ll know you’re in the darkness of night if you want to tell me that it’s easy for me to say, “give thanks,” if you want to tell me the long, sad list of deprivations you’re suffering, the burdens your bearing, and the injustices with which you contend. I understand. I hear your pain. I see your suffering. Honestly, I do. That’s why I’m here, with this little beam of light, offering to share. I’m a joy-warrior; it’s my job.

So listen. Give this a try. You have nothing to lose.

Find something for which you are grateful. Anything. The smallest thing. Can you see? Can you hear? Can you draw a breath? Can you move at least some part of your body?

Can you think? Can you imagine? Can you dream?

Can you remember a happy moment in your life? Who was with you? What were you doing? Can you remember another time?

Can you remember feeling inspired? Loved? Loving? Being kind? Receiving an act of kindness?

What was the best meal you ever ate? The best music you ever heard? The most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen? The best laugh you ever had?

See? Those are the moments of sunlight. They’re in you, a part of who you are. And when you let your thoughts dwell on them, the intensity of the light grows and illumines more and more of your world. Recognize the goodness in your life. Savor it. Appreciate it. Allow yourself to consider it a treasure, and give thanks that it is yours, and that nothing can take it from you.

The difficulties of the moment are only that. Momentary difficulties. Even if you can see no end to them. If you’re wise, you won’t try. No one knows what the next moment will bring, regardless of life’s seeming direction. Surprises happen. Lucky accidents. Unexpected connections. Fresh ideas. Give thanks for possibilities.

Most of all, give thanks for this very moment. Against all odds, you’re here—a one-of-a-kind human being, drawing breath in an amazing and mysterious world. Plug into it’s light. Give thanks!

Then go about your way, humming that sweet old ditty, “This little light of mine . . . I’m gonna let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine.”

Warmly,
Susan

_{Photo by Alex Hu from Pixabay}

Reminders for Hard Times

It’s okay to cry sometimes. Life comes with pain.
It’s okay to be angry sometimes. Life comes with injustices.
It’s okay to be weary. We all have our share of sleepless nights.
It’s okay to be discouraged and confused. Sometimes the shadows block out the light.

All of us have our points of weakness. Each of us fails sometimes.
Each of us stumbles. Each of us makes mistakes.
It’s okay. It’s part of being human.

Those who truly love you will forgive you.
And you, likewise, will find in your heart the capacity to forgive those you truly love.

That doesn’t mean you condone the wrongs.
It means you create a space for accepting that we all make errors.
Only the continuous choosing of evil deserves our righteous condemnation.
And those who make such choices are, thankfully, few.
Believe in humanity. For the most part, we all have good intentions.
We all want peace and freedom and prosperity for all, however much we may differ in our ideas about the best means to achieve them.

Life is a mystery to us all. We are in this together, for better or worse, learning as we go along.
None of us has all the answers.

Each of us does the best we can. And sometimes our best is glorious.
Sometimes–actually, more often than not–we are strong, and kind, and brave.
We laugh, we dance, we create, we sing. We do our work; we carry our loads.
We strive to be responsible. We are generous and friendly and helpful.
We value truth, and beauty, and goodness, and we seek to let them guide our lives.

Each of has our strengths. Each of us has our talents.
Each of us is willing to do what we can to make things easier and better for each other.
We are inventive. We are curious. We are problem-solvers. We are industrious.
We are willing to learn from each other. We have the splendid audacity to dream.

But for all of that, sometimes we fail. And that’s okay–as long as we rise again and keep trying.

And rise and try we will. Because we are humans—wonderful, resilient humans. And rising is what we do.

Keep the faith.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Photo by Mrexentric from Pixabay.com}

Riding Out the Storms

I was listening to this meteorologist the other day. “Earth is a dynamic planet,” he said. “Everything here is always changing. No other planet is like that.”

His statement underscores one of my personal axioms: You never know when you get up in the morning what the day will bring. And I don’t mean only the weather. Life hurls the unexpected at us all the time.

I think it does that to grow us, to teach us flexibility. When we get too comfortable we sink into a torpor. The “same old, same old” lulls us to sleep. But bring in a surprise, and we’re on full-alert. All our senses open. Our dreaminess vanishes instantly. We quickly take stock of things. We decide how we’re called to respond. Should we laugh? Or should we cry? Should we reach for our sunglasses or boots?

The bigger changes teach us not only flexibility but challenge us to accept and adapt. A friend of mine, when we went on lockdown earlier this year, said she just kept saying to herself, “This is my life now.” I thought that was a wise way to look at things. It allowed her not to fight against the changes, but to look around at what she had to work with and to make the best of it.

A book I read once about making choices for happiness called that kind ability to adapt “recasting.” The author told stories about people who found ways to keep doing the kinds of things that brought them joy even when their circumstances had drastically changed. They learned how to rearrange their lives in a way that let them continue moving toward their dreams—Maybe not the form they had previously envisioned, but in new ways that could express the essence of them nonetheless.

Our culture is in the midst of dramatic changes right now, the surprises coming like thunderbolts. We all need to put our boots on and wade through it, a day or an hour at a time. Until things settle out, we’re called on to be flexible. It’s going to be a challenging winter. We need to be willing to face uncertainty and to say, “This is my life now,” and make the best of it. When things settle—and all storms do pass—we will adapt and find ways to continue moving toward our dreams.

The key is to know what brings us joy, personally and individually, what allows us to be and do what we most want to experience being, what we most want to express. It’s a good time to decide what we most value and to let those priorities serve as our compass and guide.

While we’re in the thick of things, let’s remember that each of us is being deeply touched by the world’s events. However differently we may be impacted or how differently we view what is happening, we’re all sharing in the experience of significant change. As we strive to find balance in our own lives, let’s remember that everybody else is being challenged, too. Let’s carry some extra packets of kindness in our pockets and hand them out along the way. That’s always a good thing to have on hand, rain or shine.

Warmly, with hugs,

Susan

For the Thrill of It

“Buckle your helmets,” they say. “It’s going to be one heck of a ride.”

For some reason, when I heard that my thoughts flashed back to my childhood and the rickety, old, wooden roller coaster at the amusement park half a mile down the beach from where I lived. People loved it, and on still summer nights I could hear their shrieks through my open bedroom window as they plunged down from the top of its highest hill. We kids loved it, too. Some of our dads ran it on weekends and would let us ride for free when its cars went unfilled.

As I remembered it, a line from an old movie came to mind. I don’t recall any more of it but one scene at the end. A grandmother, her son and his kids were leaving to go to an amusement park and the son suggested she might like to take a whirl on the merry-go-round. “Oh,” she said, “that would be fine. But I much prefer the roller coaster. The merry-go-round just goes around and around in the same old circle. But the roller coaster! That’s where the thrills are!”

There’s a big difference, of course, in plunging down a steep hill on a roller coaster and plunging into the seemingly dire circumstances that life sometimes hurls at us. But the essence is still the same. We go on full-alert, holding on for dear life, praying for a safe landing. In the one case, some part of you knows that it’s just a ride, for the fun of it. In the other case, all you know for sure is that things seem pretty dicey and you better pay attention, assess your resources, and look for ways to get safely to more solid ground.

Nevertheless, it’s all an adventure. And the key to handling life’s cliffs and curves is to trust that we have the wherewithal to see each moment for what it is, letting go of the stories and fears that serve only to pollute our perceptions of reality. Our wondrous minds will unfailingly pull from their stores of experience the best answers they have to guide us in any situation. We’re all far more resourceful that we imagine ourselves to be–and stronger.

A tweet I read this week said, “There are so many things I thought I couldn’t manage. And yet here I still am.” We get through all kinds of emergencies, hardships and challenges. It’s not always easy. Sometimes life comes with sorrow. Sometimes life comes with pain.

When you find that you’re discouraged and weary, take this bit of advice from Yale psychologist Laurie Santos. She teaches a wildly popular course on happiness. “The best self-care is kindness to others,” she says. “The best way to be nicer to yourself is to be nicer to others.” And she has the studies to prove that it’s true.

Her wisdom echoes that of one of my favorite teachers, Tara Brach. When you’re hurting, she says, say to yourself, “This is suffering. Everybody suffers. May I be kind.”

It’s been a difficult year for everyone everywhere. And the challenges keep on coming. Stay present. Breathe. And look for goodness; it’s always there, deep inside every moment.

I’ll leave you with another piece of wise advice as we head into the week’s unknown. This one comes from Kurt Vogenaut: “Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.”

Wishing you a week of grace, a grand sense of adventure, and a heart overflowing with love.

Warmly,

Susan