~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
For a moment, a tongue of flame
flickered through the snowy woods
briefly coloring the bark of a maple
before it disappeared into the gray
of the deep winter day. Like a smile
flashed by a loved one boarding a plane,
its promise and warmth lingered
long after the sight itself was gone
and would be enough, I knew,
to get me through all the in-between days.
Like a Zen sand painting, destined
to disappear, a work of art glistens
in the light of the sun as it rises
over the eastern hills, its light revealing
the scene so delicately etched on my window.
And it’s not enough that the frost sculpted
crystalline flowers and branches;
it’s made a shadow layer, too, a misty
mountain, rising beyond this meadow,
rainbow snow falling on its slopes.
Behind the frost, a shadowed hillside
draped in dawn’s blue and a matrix
of tree limbs hang from a strange,
foreign sky. Later, it will take on a magic
of its own. But in this glistening moment
it’s the frost that captivates and stuns me
with its unexpected evanescent beauty.
Just when you thought another frozen day would do you in,
January breathes a few degrees of warmth into the world, enough
to heal you, enough to transform ice into water again.
It’s not the last of the arctic days. But it’s enough to let you relax,
to loosen your tight shoulders, to walk without a hat if you want.
Remember this when the next round comes.
Nothing lasts forever. Ice turns to water, then back again.
It makes us strong. We get to practice our resilience,
to practice ease with all that comes.
Long, long ago, in a world far away, I began my online writing career with a now-defunct site called The Magical Mirror Machine. It was a continuation of a paper newsletter that I sent to a list of people years before. The premise of the Magical Mirror Machine is that the world reflects back to us exactly who we are.
I remembered it this week when a bout of introspection got me to thinking about the way that we often criticize in others the very shortcomings that we’re most blind to in ourselves. If we paid attention to what the Magical Mirror was showing us, we’d have a good idea where we could use a course-correction ourselves.
Try it out. The next time you catch yourself criticizing somebody, think about what you want them to be that you believe they’re not being. Then ask yourself in what ways you are guilty of the same thing.
It can take a little digging. If you’re nagging your roommate because he always leaves his socks on the floor, the Mirror probably isn’t saying that you should be neater yourself. (Although that might be the message. Are you always leaving globs of toothpaste in the bathroom sink?) Instead, the Mirror is probably seeing through your surface complaint to a deeper issue.
It could be saying, for instance, that you wish your roommate would be more appreciative of the work you do to keep your environment clean and tidy. In other words, you want more appreciation for your contributions to the household. Hmmm. And just how appreciative are you of his contributions? When’s the last time you sincerely and specifically expressed your appreciation for the things that he does?
The way the Mirror works is that what you put out, it reflects back. If you want to get back something different, try putting it out. If you want to be listened to, listen more. If you want more affection, give more of it.
But don’t forget to look at the beauty that the Mirror shows you as well. When you’re keenly interested in something, the Mirror is hinting at one of your strengths. When you’re enjoying building something, it’s reflecting your creativity. When you notice how kind people are, it’s reflecting your own kindness. When you’re laughing, it’s showing you what you enjoy.
It’s these kinds of messages, the positive ones, that will tell you what will truly enrich your life. Notice when the Mirror is reflecting your best traits, and cultivate those. Learn what makes you happy, what touches your heart, what makes you feel strong and capable and confident, and make a point of doing more of those things.
We always get farther by cultivating our strengths than by trying to fix our weaknesses. And once you recognize what your strengths truly are, you can draw on them to guide you the next time the Mirror shows you a place that needs a little polishing.
Wishing you a week where you brilliantly shine!
Warmly,
Susan
The sound of the creek, filled by this midwinter thaw,
triggers the fisherman’s dreams. He feels himself
planted firmly in its waters, leaning into them
as they rush past his hip-high boots. He can smell
the boots. His muscles move in his sleep as he imagines
casting his line into the wind, watching it fly
through the wet air that tastes of spring and falling
into the waters, upstream. And in his dream he calls
to the trout and feels the tug on his line as one bites,
and he reels it in, oblivious now to the cold waters,
to their push against his legs. It is only him and the fish
now and this singular joy. And the joy feeds him,
and he wakes glad, even if spring is still ten weeks away.
Winter’s dusk comes early, driving me home.
Six months from now at this hour
I will be playing in the sun. But this
is the season for drawing within.
The silence of the woods as light fades
narrows my thoughts. I attend
only to each step, taking care
not to stumble, not to trip.
I am awash in the blue mystery
wrapping all around me, deeper
than the cold. Undismayed,
I walk on. Home is just ahead,
warm, and filled with light.
Not all days are made for playing outside.
Some days, if you have any sense at all,
are better spent examining the stitching
on the quilt, trying to decide whether the pink
flowers or the blue ones are your favorites.
If worse comes to worse, you could play
Tease the Dog. But for my part, the quilt
is the thing. Hide there. Grab a nap.
Dream of sunshine. That’s the way, I say,
to spend a winter day.
Shelter. It’s what they give; it’s what they do.
Humans, birds, insects, fungi, squirrels.
Who doesn’t matter at all. Only the need.
Show them that and whatever they have
is yours for the taking. Here, tuck yourself in,
they say. Let me keep you from the storm.
I was sipping my first cup of morning coffee,
watching the gentle flicker of the flames through
the wood stove’s door, gazing out the window
at the waltz of the spruce boughs and the snow.
As usual, my thoughts drifted to my loved ones,
my family, my close friends. A year ago, the soft
realization came, this one’s husband was still here,
this one’s son, this one’s long-time friend.
May peace fill the emptiness that they left behind.
I rose to take my empty cup (May they be comforted.)
to the sink, and peering through the window above it
saw, as if in a dream, a flock of mourning doves
perched on the branches of a tree and the wire,
motionless as the snow fell around them.
Imagine yourself in a land not all that far away,
beneath wondrous clouds that wear,
from time to time (depending on
their moods and the singing of the sky)
every color of the rainbow and some
that even the rainbow hasn’t yet worn.
And here, in this one special spot, almost exactly
in the very middle of nowhere, magical wands
rise from shimmering drifts of new-fallen snow
that stretch to the most distant edge of the horizon.
(You know, the edge that dreams float from at sunrise
just before they melt into the sky.) And from this
near-center of things, the wands beam waves
of warmth and encouragement and sunlight
to all the sleeping seeds who dream beneath the layers
of the earth envisioning the forms they’ll wear
when they dance in the soft winds of spring.
And if you are very quiet as you walk here,
in the snowy near-middle of nowhere, you can sense
the going forth of the wands’ beams, and you just might
feel their quickening touch whisper across
some dream seeds of your own.
You never know.