Category: Uncategorized

It’s been nearly a decade now since a friend asked me to write “one of your letters” for her to give to her son as a graduation gift. I remember being honored by her request, and moved. I remember doing a lot of contemplation before I wrote it. Finally, the words came to me as if they were a gift of love. I thought they deserved to be shared.

This is what the letter to the young graduate said:

*                            *                            *

“You were born with potential. You were born with goodness and trust. You were born with ideals and dreams. You were born with greatness. You were born with wings. You are not meant for crawling, so don’t. You have wings. Learn to use them and fly.”  ― Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi

Rumi’s right, of course. But it’s hardly the whole story. This learning-to-fly business is no easy thing.  Nor is it quickly learned.

For one thing, you have to want it—that ability to soar above the crowd. You have to keep fighting against the pull of mediocrity. You have to want freedom more than you want to belong.

Those ideals and dreams you have in your heart? Define them. Write down what you want and why and keep your reasons close at hand. You will need reminders when the headwinds are strong, when storms come. And storms will come.

No one succeeds without chalking up a list of failures. Don’t be afraid to fail.  Be afraid of not trying to win.  “Wisdom,” an old saying goes, “comes from experience. And experience comes from making mistakes.” There’s no shame in that.  Setbacks and failures are life’s gifts to you, sent as corrections to your course.  Be daring.  Take risks.

Keep a good helping of forgiveness in your pocket. Mostly you’ll need it for yourself.  It will keep you from tearing yourself down needlessly and will help you maintain your humility while you continue your upward climb.

Learn not to blame circumstances or other people when things go wrong. The key to success is the acceptance of full and complete responsibility for every choice you make and for every action you take, for your own response to whatever is happening.   When you inadvertently hurt others, be quick to apologize and make amends.

To the best of your ability, maintain your health. Eat wisely. Exercise. Get sufficient sleep. Learn to relax. Adopt some form of meditation.

Maintain flexibility of thought. Consider opinions that oppose your own.  Be willing, if it serves truth, to discard every belief you’ve ever held. Demand truth, whatever the consequences.  And to the very best of your ability, be honest with yourself and others; that’s what the practice of truth demands.

Nevertheless, be kind. Be gracious and tactful. Allow others the respect and compassion they deserve. These are the hallmarks of genuine maturity and of leadership.

Take time in your life for pleasure and play. To be alive is a profound privilege. And your gratitude is best expressed through your laughter and your joy, through your appreciation of life’s beauty and goodness and fun.

Above all, vow to learn to love, as broadly and fully as you can. For love is the wind which lifts us, and the power that enables us to soar.

You have wings, my friend.  Learn to use them, and fly.

Congratulations on all your magnificent successes thus far! You have honored yourself and your loving family and made all of us better with all that you have achieved.

###

Wishing you a splendid summer.

Warmly (with a gentle breeze),
Susan

I_{^{mage by G.C. from Pixabay}}

What? For me?
This exact moment in a forever of time;
this exact spot out of all of the everywheres!
This perfect clear sky and the thousands
of blossoms and tender new leaves!
Why, thank you! It’s lovely!
More than I ever dreamed.

On each of her days, spring brings a gift.
Today, a white hellebore opened,
its petals as white and silken
as angel wings floating above
a cup of pale yellow and lime
in whose center hung a cluster
of heart-shaped ivory seeds,
and all of it so graceful and perfect
that I held my breath in awe.
I always forget how tenderly
spring’s gifts are given, how
deeply they touch my heart.

Wherever you are, there you are,
the old man told his grandson.
Own your own road. Be content in its charms.
Feel its endlessness and possibilities.
Just claim it. Say,“Yes, this is mine.
I am who I am, and I’m here.”
There’s no need to excuse or defend,
he said. Others will respect that
and will grant you your due.
They’ll see that the road is a part of your being,
that you belong to it and it belongs to you.
And that is exactly as it should be and is.
And it’s full, my son, and rich, and fine.

On Festival Day, the dwellers of the woodland were awakened by the holly tree’s clear, sweet song, calling them to greet the morning.

Each of them put on their most beautiful garments, and after a light breakfast, waited for the procession to reach their homes.

A regal deer stood in the clearing beside the elves’ house, his breath frosty in the cold air. His horns were adorned with bells and streams of greens and berries, and he stood tall and proud. Soon the Elf King and the Spirits of Fun arrived and took their places behind him, with all the woodland elves forming the end of the line.

At the sound of the Mirth Elf’s horn, the deer stepped out, leading the parade from one home to another, with all of them singing the Festival songs in honor of the returning Light. As one dweller after another joined in the parade, the song grew richer and fuller until it echoed off the lake and ponds and shimmered through the trees. Every branch and twig quivered in joy to its sound.

Then the deer led the line of celebrants around the outer edges of the woods four times, to honor each of the past year’s seasons. And when the last round was complete, the parade marched to the end of the small pond where they encircled Grandfather Pine.

And there they sang once more their song of honor and welcome to the returning Light, and from the heavens, a beautiful angel descended above Grandfather’s crown, stars falling all around her.

“Greetings, dear children,” she said, gazing at them with a face full of tenderness. “I am the Angel of the Solstice, come to thank you for your praise. Having traveled to the end of its southward journey, today the Light indeed begins its return to your land. And with it, it brings the inspiration for all new beginnings that life may renew itself once more in your northern lands.

“Plan now how you will use the gifts it brings you to increase your growth and expand the world’s joy, for that is its purpose in shining. It beams the undying love of the Great Yes to you that you may fulfill all your potential and realize each of your heart’s true dreams, now and evermore, from form to form, from world to world, until you arrive at Love’s very heart.”

Then the angel faded away, and Grandfather himself led the final chorus of the song of honor to the Light.

“Well done, my friends,” he said as the song ended. “Now begin your celebration. Your feast awaits you. May your games be merry and your day be bright. And then, sweet ones, rest well and dream deeply, for winter is begun, and in our inner worlds, we have much to do to ready ourselves for spring. Think on the angels’ counsel and let your finest dreams reveal to you all that you may be.”

He nodded to the Mirth Elf, who blew his trumpet in a Joyous salute, and the deer, and Elf King, the Spirits of Fun, and all the elves, led the revelers back to the clearing where they feasted and played all day long.

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 maple that stands at the edge of the cornfield
at the big curve in the road, this one, newly aflame
with the deep oranges she lifts to the sky each autumn,
is an old friend. I’ve known her for decades now,
walked beneath her branches, explored the old farmhouse
she sheltered all its life. I remember the tire swing
that hung from one of her limbs and imagine
the laughter of children playing there on a day
much like this one. Their family had a barn, too,
and cows that grazed where the corn grows now.
And right in the middle of the cornfield, there’s a tree
with thick branches that folks call the hanging tree.
This maple holds all these stories for me and more.
I always look her way as I slow for the curve.
She comforts me, and I imagine we’re radiating
love to each other, feeling a connection somehow.
I round the curve and the cornfield gives way to woods,
and she is behind me now, marking the invisible point
that tells me my journey’s ending. that I am almost home.

Another thing I’ve noticed about September
is how she loves to dance.

Standing in this spot six months ago
I could hardly remember
that the bleak and frozen landscape
could give rise to this,
to trees luxuriant with leaves
and seeds, to velvety grass,
to a field of tasseled corn,
to moist warm air, filled
with birdsong and the fragrance
of summer. And now,
standing in this spot,
it’s hard to imagine
that in a handful of weeks
it will again return to sleep
beneath heaped blankets
of shimmering snow.
Yet here is the vision of it,
clear in my mind, and of springtime,
and autumn as well, the seasons blending
into the whole of this now,
where crows call and the air
is perfumed with summer.