Somewhere in the world bright flowers are blooming. Somewhere, the sun is shining down. Lovers are embracing somewhere; children are dreaming in their mother’s arms. Somewhere, great music is playing and songs are being sung. Someone is climbing a mountain, someone is offering prayer. Somewhere friends break bread and weave warm memories. Somewhere, butterflies float and colored birds take wing. Somewhere stars are glittering in a velvet sky. And everywhere, always, the Great Yes unfolds in waves of limitless love.
As if September wished to hold the sun as its hours of light dwindle, it fills our fields and roadsides with living, glowing gold, a feast of color for our eyes and of pollen for the bees. Its sole mission is to nourish, and so deep into the sunset, its burnished gold continues to glow and its song of Yes to rise.
“Certain colors are beautiful together; other colors aren’t.” That’s what she said, standing before her freshman class of art students. I remember finding that a curious thing to say. “Take, for instance,” she continued, “pink and orange. Each has its own fine qualities, but never, when combined, can they be considered beautiful.” The students took notes. I started drawing doodles, tuned her out, fell into dreams. I thought of her today as I came upon the wildflowers. I laughed. Tell it to the bees, I thought. Clearly, I was not the only one who didn’t listen.
The woods completely dissolve the idea that peace and stillness are the same thing, that serenity is motionless and silent. The trees say peace is an endless singing of possibilities brought into being, then gone, a rise and fall of notes echoing through the edgeless vastness, transcending time. And serenity is the embrace of the song, the welcoming of it, the joyous recognition that it is the Yes dancing, within and without, without end.
You, too, are a climber, reaching for the heights. Climb on. You, too, are meant to open to the morning sun. Open singing. You, too, are a star filled with inner light. Shine on, friend. Shine on.
It’s early afternoon as I climb the slope. This morning two doe ascended this very trail and the woods, now silent, save for the barking of a dog on the other side of the valley, were filled with birdsong, I had a conversation with the cardinal. We often chat. Birds nap, or so I think, mid-day. I’ve long thought them wise. I like to picture them cradled in this green, a gentle breeze rocking them, dreaming little birdie dreams. I place my steps softly, lest I disturb them. I rest at the base of the ancient tree I call Mother Maple. She stands near the crown of the slope her broad limbs raised in celebration to the sky regardless of the season. She has a fine view. I pat her trunk with my open palm, her life force flowing into me bright as the afternoon sun and as warm, as glad. She is why I climbed. Just to say an up-close hello on this lush, warm day in late July.
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:
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“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.
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.
