It matters that you see and remember because you are the Keeper, the one charged to hold this moment as clearly as you can. Imprint it indelibly on your mind, so that one day, when such things as summer roses have forever disappeared, you will be able to tell how they were real, and delicate, and how they let you know that you, too, were real, breathing their fragrance, touched by sweet beauty, hearing their life-song singing in your soul. Look closely, with open eyes and a welcoming heart. You are the Keeper. Remember.
Remember the Land of Let’s Pretend that you visited as a child? All you had to do was turn to your imagination and it would whisk you away to any world at all.
You could be a rock star, a cowboy, a princess, a lion. You could fly through space or gallop across the desert on the bare back of a mighty steed. The stories were endless and oh so very real. And your friends would be there with you, playing right along.
What if you visited Let’s Pretend again? What if you dreamed a magical tomorrow, set a few months, or maybe a couple years or so in the future? What if you painted it with all your fondest dreams and saw them in three dimensions, in living color with a state-of-the-art soundtrack to boot?
Imagine! You had put all your best talents to work, and day after day played your hardest at keeping your goals in mind. Opportunities, resources, ideas and connections materialized as if invisible hands were guiding you on your way. And now, here you were, just where you wanted to be, confident and serene, doing exactly the kind of things your heart most wanted to do. What would it look like? How would it feel? Can you see it? Can you imagine? Do you have the daring to dream such a dream?
When I first learned about the power of imagining an ideal future for myself the focus of my mentors was on career achievement and wealth building. To be honest, neither of those things held any real appeal to me. But the idea that keeping a vision in mind somehow pulled that vision into reality intrigued me. And over the years, my understanding of that concept has broadened and deepened, and the principle I was taught all those years ago has proved itself to be undeniably true.
Hold a vision of how you want to be in the world. Refine it as you go. Out of the blue, luck comes, unfolding its gifts and promises. When you hold to your vision, believing, everything you need to materialize it appears, albeit not always in quite the form or manner you had expected.
What you need may take a far different shape than what you had imagined. We seldom have our true desires well defined when we begin our journey. But something that guides us knows far better than we ourselves what it will take to put our heart’s true dreams together. And in the end, we get more than we dared to wish for, treasures of far more worth.
Along the way you have to keep an open mind and be ready for surprises. Always remember your vision; watch it evolve. And when inspiration comes, be ready to grab it, right now, and to run wherever it points you.
It’s all an act of faith, you know. Just put on a smile and whisper, “I believe. I believe.”
The grasses lining the roadways are golden-brown now as if the sun has been toasting their seeds, and above them mullein rises, its leaves woolly, its stalks putting forth their first yellow flowers, so delicate for such a large and stalwart herb. A fine breeze dances through the trees. carrying the scents of it all, pushing heaps of clouds across the warm sky, clearing its blue after a night of rain. And everything sings life and is reaching for its fullness.
Well, look at that! They don’t sew children’s mouths shut after all. That was just a tale told to us by silly grown-ups as a tease. What they sew are the holes in leaves. I caught one today sizing up the job.
Hey, pretty petunia, old friend. It wouldn’t be summer without you, you know. Why, I remember when I was only three how you lined the path to the dirt-floored cellar where Aunt Maybelle kept her wringer washer, your scent mixing with the fragrance of soap as she washed clothes, and how kittens played their games of hide and seek beneath your blooms. That long you’ve colored my summers, over half a century now. And still you’re with me, smiling outside my kitchen door, the neighbor’s cat curled beside you, loving your purple, sharing your sun.
This. This morning green, alive and breathing, which greets me. This radiant green, filled with the whispered stories leaves tell as the day begins, and with hidden birds who have stories of their own, and with the countless creatures who claim this space as home—this green, singing of sun and summer, writing the opening lines of this new day across my heart, filling me with the certainty that all is Yes and born of joy.
A friend told me that if I want to store something I see in memory, to blink my eyes, deliberately, as if my eyelids were a camera’s shutter. I do this frequently now and suppose that’s what the earth is doing when she closes her eyelids at night: remembering, everything. Just in case it all should vanish. I join her. I intend to carry as much of it with me as my soul can hold, as a witness. Just in case we’re the last ones ever to be here. You never know.
Now that you’ve caught a glimpse of me, come closer and get a better view. Watch how I dance my petals for you, how I waltz in the breeze to please, my delicate scent rising to your nose and whispering to you the essence of rose, which, as everyone knows, means “I love you.”
If, one day in your travels, you come upon a garden, stop. Pull some moments from your day to bathe your spirit in its song, Be astonished at the way that stardust comes together to create the wondrous dance of the seer and the seen.
Chances are, since you’re human, you’ve had one or two of those times where you’re right at the edge of absolute despair and, looking over the edge into the abyss below, think the tumble might be worth it. You’re not about to find out. But you sure won’t mind when this all ends.
First of all, as someone who has the tattered tee-shirt from that place, let me tell you I’m sorry you had to feel that pain. I’m sorry any of us do. But we do. Every last one of us. It comes, it seems, with the package.
I was reminded of those bleak stretches of the road when I happened across a little wall poster that said,”Don’t you DARE give up now!” I was having a fine morning when I saw it, and it made me grin. Such a poke! Such encouragement in so few words.
“That’s right,” I said to myself. Then I watched a whole string of cliches roll through my mind: Things change. Things get better. Light follows dark. Calm follows storm.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I thought. I don’t want to hear a bunch of truisms now. Not if I’m chest deep in the messiness of life. If that’s where I am, I’m hanging on to this big bag full of disgust and sick-of-this-had-enough-ness. And somehow I can’t quite get myself to set it down.
So, you’ve probably been there a time or two, right? Sucks.
One of the best ladders I’ve found for digging myself out of that particular kind of a pit is Tara Brach’s mantra: “This is suffering. Everybody suffers. May I be kind.” Saying those words, for me, softens things, lets me let go of some of the stubbornness that’s holding onto my disgust bag. It’s one of those phrases I like to keep nearby to grab when I’m in trouble.
Now I have “Don’t you DARE give up now!” to add to the mix. It feels spicier. It’s bracing. It carries a challenge. Mind you, it doesn’t say you can’t take a rest. A nap might be just what you need before you take on the next round. It’s just saying that you need to take on the next round.
A scene from a movie I can’t remember comes to mind where these two men are having a raging fist-fight in the mud in a terrible downpour. The hero is taking a pretty bad beating. He slips in the mud and falls to his knees a couple times. Then he’s hit with a powerful blow to the jaw and falls whole body into the slimy mud. Calling on every bit of reserve he has, he pulls himself to his feet. “Why do you keep getting up?” the bad guy asks him incredulously. The hero looks him in the eye, his face covered with mud, and snarls, “Because I can.”
That’s one of the things that made him a hero. He didn’t give up. He kept on going, regardless of how bleak the odds seemed.
Things change. Sometimes – more often than we credit – things get better. And light really does come after darkness. So, yes. I’ll put this one in my pocket: “Don’t you DARE give up now!”
Stick one in yours, too. You never know. It might come in handy one of these days.
Wishing you a week where light dances gently all around you.
