When I walk in the woods, I often follow the trails that the animals have made. Sometimes I’ll find myself deep in the trees and vines and brush when all at once the trail just stops. I have no idea how that happens. It’s a bit of a startling feeling. The trail was showing me where to go, and now it’s not there. It’s up to me to figure out where I am and which way I want to head.

I have had the same experience following a detour when driving. You’re paying attention, following the signs, and after a dozen turns in the route, you realize the signs have simply ceased to be.

This week has been kind of like that. I was tramping through the brush, aware of what was around me, following the signs. Then all of a sudden, the trail stopped, and I was on my own, having to figure things out for myself. Where am I? Who am I? Where do I want to go from here?

My experience told me that the first thing you have to do when you’re in a situation like that is to stop. Just stop. Then look around you, see where you are. Take stock. Who is this me that’s here in this spot? What was her intention?

You already know who and where you are, of course. But when you’re casting your attention outside of yourself, or on inner dreams, sometimes your intention gets lost. The trail’s sudden end wakes you up so you can remember. Oh yes. I am here. And this is what I want to do. I’ll start by heading in that direction.

I woke up this morning feeling as if I had lost the trail. I was disoriented for some reason, confused. So I asked my questions. Where am I? Who am I? What do I want to do?

It was one of those days when I could stay in bed and think about it for a little while. So instead of thinking that I was one of the roles I play, and that she had better get going, I enjoyed the leisure and asked myself which role I wanted to be, which was the primary one, the basic one on which all the others floated.

It took a while for me to decide. I had to dig through a few layers of possibilities to get there. Then finally the answer softly whispered in my mind. “You are a Flexitarian Harmonizer, Susan, currently serving in the Order of Joy Warriors.” It’s an imaginary Order. I made it up. But I promised myself that I would adapt its mantel and learn what there was to be learned.

It hasn’t been easy going. This world we share tests each of us to our limits. The trick is to be sure, as you travel life’s road, that you have always have a flashlight in your pocket with a built-in compass. Mine has the words “Joy Warrior” engraved on it. You alone can read the engraving on yours. (You might have to dig through some crusted-on old stories to read it; but it’s there. And even if you can’t read its name, in your heart you know what it means.)

So, after I remembered my promise to be a Joy Warrior, I asked myself exactly what a Joy Warrior is. Again, the answer whispered. “To be a Joy Warrior is to relentlessly battle against all that stands between you and the full realization that you are one with the Source of Joy, which lives within you.”

At first, I was warmed and inspired by the thought. Then I burst out in laughter. “Well, so far, there’s been no shortage of battles!” I shouted to the whisper. But each one, I realized, brought lessons, and learning, and deeper understanding. And those were treasures I could have acquired in no other way.

Once I’d found my flashlight, I knew it didn’t really matter what I would do in the day ahead. I could step into it with gratitude that I had hours ahead of challenge and rest and play. I tucked that little flashlight into my pocket and went on with my day.

Thinking about you as I write this, I smile. I wish you a light-filled week ahead.

Warmly,
Susan

_{Photo by S. Hermann & F. Richter at Pixabay.com}

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. . .
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}

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