I write these letters to you late on Saturday nights. I like settling into the stillness of the evening on those final hours of the week. I let go of all my thoughts about the happenings the week held, and all of those about what I expect to be doing next week. I tell all my complaints to go sit in the corner for a while. And then I just wait. Sooner or later, a little bubble floats into my awareness, and when it pops, there’s the thing I want to say to you.

Tonight, I’m filled with happy anticipation as I write. The week’s events lined up just as I had hoped they would, and tomorrow morning, maybe as you’re reading these words, I’ll be cruising down the highway to visit family and friends who live 400 miles away.

Because we’re lucky to see each other only once a year or so, the visits are special and precious.

I was thinking about how so many of us have been distanced from each other by this past year’s events, and how sad that was. The world has changed in so many ways. And as much as we might wish it, there’s no going back. There never is, you know. The past is past.

“Mom, where do all the yesterdays go?” my son, then six, asked me. I was astonished by the question. I had no idea what to say. So I asked him where he thought they went.

“I think they all gather together in some special place,” he said.

He was right. Children can often see things so clearly.

In some special place, all of the past still lives, every detail of it perfectly preserved. And we have the wonderful ability to dip into it at will, and to pull from it the parts that we experienced. All of our stories are there. Every last one of them. Isn’t that amazing?

I’m taking some memorabilia with me on my trip to share, documents and photos. They’ll act as keys to the place where yesterdays dwell, and we’ll laugh and think of things we did back when and tell each other stories.

That kind of sharing is so rich.

Especially in a world as filled with turmoil as ours is, it’s from our relationships that we draw the greatest meaning and comfort. We’re not in this alone. We have companions on this journey. And sometimes, it’s good to sit and talk with each other about where you’ve been, and what you’ve seen, what made you laugh, what embarrassed you, what made you cry, what you learned and loved along the way.

I’m glad I’ll get to do some of that for a few days. I hope an opportunity will come for you to visit and savor pieces of days past, too. I hope you get to reminisce with someone special, even if only in your mind.

In my mind, I’ll looking through this electronic screen at your face, smiling at you, glad we get these little Sunday visits. You’re real to me, you know, even if we have never met in person or exchanged notes. For a few minutes every week, we get to have this little mind-meld. And in my heart, I wish you an easy day that’s sparkled with joy and fills you with contentment.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by choemik from Pixabay}

When I was a little kid, one of our family’s favorite entertainments was “going for a ride.” Mom would pack a picnic basket. Dad would polish the car’s windows. I’d grab a stack of comic books, a pillow and blanket (in case I would want a nap) and off we’d go for the whole day, exploring the highways of northern Michigan. To me, it felt like an excursion through paradise. I couldn’t imagine any better adventure.

Sometimes, after we had been riding in contented silence for a while, one of my parents would say to the other, “Penny for Your Thoughts.” It was a great game. You never knew where it would go. The only rule was that you had to tell the other person what you were thinking when the penny was offered.

I never saw either mom or dad pay the other the penny. Finally, one day I asked about that. Dad said they just put it on the books. I had no idea what he meant. I never saw pennies on any of our books But I guessed it was just one of those grown-up things.

This week, I revived the game for myself. I put pennies in a few places around the house and whenever I happened to notice one, I would stop and ask myself what I had just been thinking. I made a little mental note of what had been occupying me, labeled it “pleasant” or “unpleasant” and went on with whatever I was doing.

It was quite a revealing game. It showed me where I needed a tune-up. I like that phrase, “tune-up.” I think of a piano or guitar and how you need to adjust the strings now and then to stay exactly on the right note. If the string is too loose, your note will sound flat. If it’s too tight, it will lean to the sharp side. And we joy warriors like to stay right on key, perfectly balanced on the exact vibration. Smooth and clear.

Maybe it’s one of those “golden mean” things, that magical space where the scales between pleasant and unpleasant, good and bad, positive and negative–however you want to think of it–where the scales are balanced. It’s that place where you find yourself most open to reality, resisting nothing, accepting it all for what it is. Including your desire for it to be something else. And feeling love for it anyway. That’s the space I call being in joy.

The penny game turned out to be a good tool for entering it, or at least for remembering that it was my intended destination. Sometimes, when you’re stuck in a dark spot in the inner stories you tell yourself, remembering that joy is real and possible can be a genuine comfort. Who would have guessed you could still get such value for a mere penny.

I’ll scatter some virtual pennies between my words here for you. You can turn them into real ones if you want and put a few where you’re likely to spot them. Then, when you do, think “Penny for Your Thoughts.” See what you find out.

Wishing you treasures!

Warmly,
Susan

^{Photo by Olya Adamovich from Pixabay}

I saw a picture of a beautiful oasis this week. Smack dab in the middle of a dry, barren land, an island of lush greenery surrounded a large pond. Animals were on its shore, drinking, wading, playing in it. The trees around it held birds who were squawking and calling.

A watering hole, giving life to all who came to its banks.

A little later, I stepped out my kitchen door to see the season’s first little flowers, wee crocuses, singing their joy. I breathed in the sight of them and felt as if I had just surfaced from a dive into deep, dark waters. Spring is my oasis. Out of the hard and frozen ground, suddenly flowers grow. Finally, there is light and life and color and song in the world again.

But Spring isn’t my only oasis. I could make a long list of favorite things, of the kinds of experiences that wake me. Life holds a countless number of them. It’s just a matter of recognizing them, and deciding to dwell in one of them for a little while. They’re places where all the dreams and stories that spun themselves across your mind as you were finding your way across the barren places suddenly disappear. And in their place, you see that you are alive in a world of wonders and mysteries. And, to your amazement, you are glad to be here, in the midst of it. Even though some of its mysteries look dark and tangled. Even though you can’t make sense of it all. You don’t care. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you are alive in it. Alive!

You can breathe yourself there, you know. A couple times a day, remember to take a deep breath, and as you do, think of life. Not your mind’s thoughts about the various dramas of your particular life, but about life itself. Livingness. That’s all. Just breathe and think of life. Make it a practice; do it whenever you think of it. Watch what happens. Do it every day. Just breathe, and think “Life.”

We’re all feeling a lot of stress these days. It’s a hard patch of ground for everybody on the planet right now. We’re all thirsting for peace and sanity. We’re all needing an oasis. And each of us has one, and it can be triggered by anything at all. It’s a simple state of mind. You’re just breathing, after all, feeling breath breathe you, aware of life, of aliveness, and nothing else. For that one moment, all the stories and dreams have faded away.

It’s a healing experience, this draft of living water and clear air. It cleanses and revives you. And you go forth on your journey refreshed and stronger.

I’ve noticed the lengthening of the days this week. That’s another point of joy for me, the earlier rising of the sun and its later setting. I find myself automatically taking a deep breath when I notice them. And my neighboring chipmunk has reappeared, too. So many things are keys to the doors of perception, to the beautiful oasis that’s right here. Right here.

Isn’t that amazing?

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Gero Birkenmaier from Pixabay}

The park served me well, treating me to the sight of the first robin I’ve seen this season. To my absolute delight, I managed to snap a decent photo of her, fat with eggs, on the branch of a pine tree, I got a shot of a daffodil bud, still tight, but beaming its yellow in the midst of its thick green and blue-green leaves. And right in a tangle of the winter-dried brush of the butterfly garden, I spotted a glorious little crocus. The lake held mallards and geese swimming together past the pine woods. My photos of them weren’t clear, but the sight is bright in my mind.

For all those moments when I’m looking through the camera’s lens, I give thanks. They lift me out of my musings and let me see nature’s beauty and grace.

Nevertheless, I looked at the world differently today than I had in the past when springtime began.

I used to think of Spring as a sign of renewal, a message that life on the planet would rise, even in the face of a worldwide catastrophe. Some fragment would remain, to begin again, even if it took eons. Now I’m no longer so certain. I suppose that it’s still possible. Somewhere, in some undiscovered pocket of wilderness, perhaps a small tribe could escape the devastation currently assaulting us from so many directions on so many levels. God is great, as my friend Modoulamin often reminds me. And we are merely humans, however arrogant in our ignorance we are.

When I got home, I opened my quotes file to see who it was that said we should live every day as if it is our first, or our last. The name Mary Atwood comes to mind. But it’s not showing up in my search. (Whoever it was, thank you.)

I never did find it. But I did find one on appreciation that speaks to the point I want to make. I was reminded again at the park today that this moment that I am alive. This one, where we dance on the brink of extinction not only of ourselves, individually, but of the whole curious, amazing human species. Forever.

Here’s the quote I found:

“Love is made up of three unconditional properties in equal measure:

1. Acceptance
2. Understanding
3. Appreciation

Remove any one of the three and the triangle falls apart.Which, by the way, is something highly inadvisable. Think about it — do you really want to live in a world of only two dimensions?

So, for the love of a triangle, please keep love whole.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

If you’re going to live as if today is your first day, or your last, what you’ll be living in is, at its core, love.

On your first day, you wholly accept every still-unlabeled bit of sensory data that dances into your awareness. You understand without question that you have arrived in a wondrous place. You appreciate its intensity and motion.

On your last day, you bring the whole of your life experience with you as you take in the world for one last time. You accept it, in all its complexity and dimensions. You understand that it has had meaning for you and has grown you. You appreciate the reality of all the experiences that brought you to these last few moments, here, on this mysterious planet, at this most poignant time.

So, as I stood in the woods at the edge of the lake, thinking for the first time in my life, that we who are living now may be the Final Edition of our species, that it’s truly possible, I let myself feel the sunlight on my cheek as I watched the emerald-headed mallard and his mate paddle along the lake’s edge. I smiled, remembering the robin I saw moments ago, and the lemon-yellow daffodil bud and the bright crocus shining in the weeds. And my heart filled with gratitude and joy for the sheer miracle of living. Regardless.

Warmly,
Susan

Here you go. A list of little joy crumbs to munch on when you need a change of perspective.

1. Stand in a patch of sunshine and think about how far away the sun is.
2. Look at the stars and think about how our sun is one of them.
3. Wonder if someone somewhere is looking at our sun right now and thinking that it’s such a distant star.
4. Feel the air brushing your face and think about how it’s always in constant motion.
5. Look at a cat or a bird or a fish or a dog, and think how amazing they are.
6. Think about elephants and koala bears and all the wondrous animals that share our world.
7. Look at trees and realize they are alive, breathing and growing, just like you.
8. Watch your fingers move and think about all that makes them work.
9. Wonder about where all the seeds came from.
10. Think about how little you are compared to some things, how gigantic compared to others.
11. Think about how much you have learned since you were five years old.
12. Listen to some music and be amazed at its power to affect you.
13. Think about how deep the ocean might be.
14. Think about how we’re all so much like each other and how, even so, every one of us is absolutely unique.
15. Look at clouds and realize they are floating, right up there in the sky.
16. When you eat, think about where whatever you’re eating came from and what it took to get it to you.
17. Think how your heart keeps beating and your lungs keep pumping air.
18. Wiggle your toes and laugh at them.
19. Think about all the inventions mankind has made.
20. Think about mountains.
21. Think about all the stories we have passed on for generations.
22. Think about the magic of fire.
23. Think about sunrise.
24. Imagine the fragrance of freshly mown grass.
25. Think how amazing it is that you are alive.
26. Think about what it’s like to touch someone.
27. Wonder where your hair comes from.
28. Feel your face smile.
29. Think about how you learned to read.
30. Imagine the sound of a ringing bell.
31. Imagine your imagination has no limits at all.
32. Think about all the feelings you can feel.
33. Think about your favorite place.
34. Think about a favorite person’s laugh.
35. Think about a field full of flowers.
36. Imagine playing your favorite game.
37. Imagine the texture of silk.
38. Think about all the sounds animals can make.
39. Imagine feeling inspired.
40. Imagine feeling grateful, right this very minute.

Now carry on!

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Syaibatul Hamdi from Pixabay}