~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
Opening from nowhere,
from the long, gray cold,
from spring’s relentless burgeoning forth.
the magnolia floats
beneath an April blue sky,
as if it were nothing,
as if its pastel pinks, its smooth flesh, its graceful rise
came as easily as breathing, as effortlessly as morning breeze,
as if its sheer, magnificent being were no miracle at all.
The hillside is a riotous mess now.
Everywhere, green sprouts rise
despite the winter’s debris, winning
the contest between the green and brown.
Several days ago, over a week now,
I got a notion to spot a baby fern
on its first day and to watch it unfold
into full fernhood. I have searched daily
and searched diligently, carefully eying
the ten thousand details lest I miss it,
the first one’s birth. Until today,
I had to say, “Not yet.” But today,
on a cold and misty April morning,
just as a robin sang from the woods –
the first I had heard this year – I spotted it,
already tall and rising from its curled sleep.
And now I get to watch it grow.
I hesitate before I step outside.
Part of me is shivering with anticipation.
Another part is wondering how I will stand,
peering into the face of yet another proof
of spring’s grand yes to joy. A bird’s song
pulls me out, and I walk across the slope
as if I am approaching the gates of heaven,
the morning’s grass dewy beneath my feet
and glistening in the sun. The air is warm.
A hundred birds sing from the woods.
Then there I am, peering down at a choir
of narcissus that looks like a troupe of angels.
And their silent song floats its gladness
into my heart, and I sing along. Yes. Yes.
I ran across a description of the human mind as being made up of two parts, the Thinker and the Prover. I had never heard it put that way, and I liked the simplicity and accuracy of the idea.
Earlier in the week, I had been thinking about the phrase, “What you think about expands.” Now I had a simple explanation for how that happens.
Here’s how it works. You get caught in a loop where your Prover goes out to bring your Thinker evidence. And the evidence stimulates you to think that your thought is even truer than it was before. Then, because you’re looking at it with such renewed interest, the Prover brings you even more proof. And your thoughts – with their attendant emotions – intensify. And the Prover brings you more proof.
I sometimes call this a mental movie loop. It’s some story you keep playing over and over in your mind. Maybe if you focus on it enough, you imagine, what happened will somehow change. But at least in our current world, thoughts don’t change events that happened in the past, no matter how passionately we think them
Well then, you tell yourself, maybe if I keep letting the movie play, I’ll see why I’m feeling what I’m feeling and how absolutely justified I am.
Movie loops might spin around forever if some distraction didn’t intervene. Luckily, distractions abound. You can always take a reality break, check out what’s happening, take a breath, take a stretch, look around. (Personally, I like to ask myself three questions: “Who am I? Where am I? What was I doing?” They get me oriented in the here and now instantly.)
Sometimes we get so hooked into some emotionally charged movie-loop that we leap right back into it after it’s interrupted. The Thinker thinks the story line. The Prover brings evidence as proof.
But here’s an interesting thing about the Prover. Its only purpose is to bring you evidence for what your Thinker is thinking. And that means if you change your mind completely and start wondering if this other viewpoint might be true, the Prover will bring you evidence to support that thought. The Thinker is in charge. And here’s the key: You are in charge of the Thinker! You can choose what to think about.
We do that all the time, of course, decide where to put our attention.
When I was a little kid and I went to the movies, a whole string of short features would play before the main one started, and then more would play before the second one started. I always liked those short features. They let my attention move from place to place and my emotions to change with each little story.
These days, I think of looking out my window as a kind of “short feature.” It puts me in the present and lets me shift my thoughts and check in on what’s going on around me. I just look outside my window and tell myself what I see. And it’s different every time, and refreshing. It’s like a little vacation from whatever mental movie had my attention. And then I get to choose whether to resume what thoughts I was thinking or to entertain new ones.
And that reminds me of this wise line: “You can’t stop thoughts from coming to your door, but you don’t have to entertain them.” Remember about the Thinker and the Prover and decide what kinds of thoughts you would genuinely prefer to entertain. Because one way or another, the Prover will bring you proof.
Wishing you fine thoughts and refreshing “short features.”
Warmly,
Susan
Image by mohamed_hassan on Pixabay
After five straight days of sunshine, suddenly
a bank of rolling clouds swept in, born on a wind
that set the trees swaying with joy for the drama
of it all. At my feet, the lush shoots just now rising
quiver as if they sense some wonder in the air.
Their first rain! And, oh my, how they glistened
in the afternoon sun after the rain had passed!
One of the things I love most about spring’s flowers
(along with their tenderness, and how heedless they are
of anyone’s opinion) is the way they paint their absolute joy.
You, for instance, with your simple white petals, shooting
seeds on red stalks from your rosy red heart.
How can I look at you and not feel delight?
A single pink hyacinth opened today in my garden,
luring me with its irresistible perfume to come close,
closer. Lose yourself in her the air said. I could do
nothing else. And I cannot describe the pure cool joy of her.
It simply transcends words. But imagine a scent so heavenly
that you want to breathe it in forever.
Late in the afternoon, actually just before evening,
as the sun sinks behind the western hill, the treetops
on the east end of the southern slopes, their buds swollen
with life, glow in the golden light, their crowns looking
like pastel clouds afloat in the springtime sky,
Sometimes when I stop to look
the thought comes to me that we,
you and I, may be among the last
ever to see living nature in its context
through purely human eyes.
Really, that’s why I stop, why I trade
moments of my life for the sight
of these blossoms. We could be,
you know, among the very last ones.
Spring beauties cover the hillside now,
emerging from the layers of last year’s leaves
to dance beneath the sun. In the right light,
you might think for a moment that it had snowed.
But no; it is only these tiny, bright flowers.
Only this message of undeniable joy.
Only life appearing. Regardless of the odds.