~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
One day, years and years ago, on a day
much like this one, I walked along
a country road, much like this one.
It had been a long, hard winter.
I had passed the time assembling
picturesque, thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles.
Now, looking up at the scene before me
as I walked, I suddenly saw the world
transform into a giant jigsaw puzzle,
its pieces etched against the sky.
“What would happen,” I wondered,
“If I reached up and pulled a piece out?”
So I did. And then I knew.
What an amazing dream!
If I were a bird, that’s where I’d be,
on the highest branch of the tallest tree,
watching the world, feeling the breeze,
catching the songs, completely at ease.
I could fly off; I do as I please.
But how lovely it is at the top of the trees!
I watch the trees dance in the spring air,
their newly unfurled leaves like lace
against the sky. I remember that today
is the last day of April, perhaps
the last April that I will ever see.
So I pause and look at all the days
that unfolded as April breezed by,
ushering in a waking world beyond
all we had imagined. A parade
of wildflowers flowing on the hours,
astonishing surprises at every turn,
an endless spectrum of mood and fragrance,
and all of it vivid and alive and real.
Some, I suppose, will remember you
for your torrents of wind and rain.
I will remember the beauty
of all you brought to life.
I bow to you, April, as you take your leave.
Farewell, sweet one.
Farewell.
As I walked beside the lake, heading
to the lower pond, a flash of light
caught my eye. Curious, I turned
in its direction and spotted a man
at a picnic table by the swing set
beside the park’s only shelter,
a laptop and a stack of books
spread before him. My first impulse
was to walk on, leaving him to study
undisturbed. But the sight
was so unusual, that I couldn’t help
but approach him. “I just wanted,”
I said as he looked up and smiled,
“to say hello to a man who is wise
enough to choose a place as quiet
and nourishing as this in which to study.”
He grinned. “It certainly beats
my dorm room,” he said.
“Well, may you become your class
Valedictorian!” I said, waving
farewell as I resumed my walk
and he returned to his studies.
When I was far enough away
that he wouldn’t notice
I snapped a picture of him.
Someday, maybe I’ll tell folks
that I encountered him once
when he was just a student,
studying in a patch of pines.
Some folks, they tell me, dream of a heaven
where the streets are paved with gold.
I walked in the park today, my pathway
strewn with wildflowers, the scent of lilacs
perfuming the warm spring air, thinking
to myself that this was all the heaven
I could want. This, right here, beneath
my feet and breathing all around me.
Tonight, the highway, now a luminous ribbon,
winds into the distant misty hills, the wet pavement
reflecting the light of the setting golden sun.
Open your bold simplicity, and
let your song be clear and strong.
This is the moment for which
you were born, the now
in which you unfold your grace
and make your mark on the eternity
of our hearts, so that we may sing
the Yes with you until
the last star disappears
from the deep and infinite sky.
While I was doing some research this week, I happened on a website dedicated to providing guidance to Native American youth facing various social issues within their Tribes. I found it interesting that their site had a page addressing the joint Tribes’ view of Elders. Depending on the particular Tribe, an Elder is someone over 60-65 years of age. The page emphasized the respect the Tribes give their seniors. For instance, here’s what they say on their page:
“When an Elder speaks, an informed individual knows to listen. An Elder’s wisdom is invaluable to a tribe’s prosperity and well-being. Elders are sacred bearers of golden truths and know many valuable stories about the Old Ways. God often speaks through Elders.”
Later on, I happened on a collection of responses from seniors when asked what life lesson they would like to pass on. I had time to go through the list slowly, to let each thought sink in. That’s the only good way to read quotations, I’ve found. It lets you extract the juice from them.
Try it as I share with you a few of the seniors’ offerings. Read them one at a time, pausing after each one long enough to let it settle in. Maybe consider, as you read, which ones apply most for you right now.
Here‘s a dozen that I thought were worth tucking in our pockets . . .
Yes, especially that last one.
Wishing you a week of fine accomplishments and ease.
Warmly,
Susan
It’s not that nature’s beauty consumes me.
It’s the refuge it provides from the rest of it –
from the conflicts and disasters large and small
that cover the globe; from the endless prattle
of the lonely because talking is the only way
they know to mark the world with their presence,
to connect, to find meaning; from the struggles
for survival, for status, for power, for control,
and for all the touted doodads that promise
to convey them or to provide relief from the fight.
Walk in the woods. Listen to the trees.
Observe the details in the smallest flower.
See the seasons unfold. Watch the clouds
and stars float above you. Take solace
in an order beyond our knowing, a power
and intelligence we cannot comprehend.
Feel how you are a child of it, how you move
within its omnipresent embrace, loved
even when you are asleep in it, unconscious
of its plan and grace and mercy. Wonder
at its intricacy, its obedience to inviolable laws.
Think how this is but the skin that the Yes wears,
this mysterious, ever-dancing curtain of matter.
Think how majestic is that which brought it
into being and bestowed on us our capacities
to see, to taste, to move and desire, to seek,
to find, to love, and, finally, to know.
Mimicking nothing,
following nothing
but its own inner song,
trusting that being
is its own reward,
reaching only toward
fulfillment of this
moment’s highest
possibility, it unfolds
its exquisite perfection.
Except that the Yes is the source of joy,
spring needn’t have come with such beauty.
A limited pallet might have served as well,
a handful of standardized designs.
We could have as easily performed
our daily tasks without being caught
in spring’s web of wonder, without
being stopped in our tracks to gaze
and smile at wee pink flowers
whose centers burst with polka dot stars.
But the Yes, which is made of love,
cannot help but leave its beauty
everywhere, just in case your heart
might need to hear its song.