~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
More rain is in the forecast,
maybe mixed with a bit of snow.
Even now the clouds have gathered
in the western sky. The sleeping fields
dream beneath puddles and frost,
oblivious of the weather. But we,
who have gone long days without
a glimpse of sun, danced today
under great swaths of blue sky,
counting it as a gift and a blessing.
Like birds, or notes on an invisible staff,
a small choir of leaves adorns the maple’s
branches. A mere glance in their direction
is enough to set their song singing
in my mind, and I recall a story
about a man who played the piano,
and his wife, who played the violin.
The two of them entertained by playing
the music they saw in any painting that
their host would present, one neither
had seen before. Now, decades later,
as this filigree of leaves and twigs sways
in the wintry sky, I finally understand.
It’s all a matter of perspective.
Which way is up, which down.
What’s in focus, what’s not.
This slant or that. Which view
is true, which distorted.
Who decides who decides,
and by what measure.
The raindrops fall, their dreams
of the world melting into a stream
that feeds the roots of trees, who,
no doubt, have dreams of their own.
I step into the woods knowing only that its lessons wait,
hidden in plain sight for me to see. Whether I will or not
depends, I have learned, on how willing I am
to surrender my preconceived notions and dreams,
to be open and willing to receive what’s before me,
naming nothing, judging nothing, wanting nothing
but to follow the gladness spilling from my heart.
Except for the strength of it,
I suppose you could call it an impulse,
this sudden sense that I must go now
and walk among trees. Given the gloom
of the day and the late afternoon hour,
this tug surprised me. But here I was,
pulling on my boots, grabbing my gloves,
detecting a sense of purpose, a need to waste
no time. Then I am plowing through
a carpet of oak leaves, transfixed
by the way the light shimmers through
the cold, barely visible mist,
intensifying somehow the textures
of the skins of the trees, of the earth
and the ice-glazed lake, how it amplifies
their winter hues. This was my wordless
lesson, this offering of beauty, a gift of love
to celebrate this new year’s very first day.
Well, first and foremost, let’s share a New Year’s toast: “May this brand new year be the best one yet, for each and every one of us!” Happy New Year to you, from my heart.
I got a wonderful present this week from a Facebook friend, Nanda Jurela, who shares her insightful wisdom on her blog. The gift was what she called an “enlightening motto” that she had heard a few years ago. It says, “You can’t embrace what is trying to hug you while holding onto yesterday’s junk.”
I’m adopting that one myself, thank you, Nanda.
Imagine waking up every day of the new year wondering what hugs will come hoping for your embrace! They could come dressed up as anything. They could be any color, or shape, or size. The only thing they all have in common is that they’re filled with goodness and a very particular fondness for you.
Personally, I’m going to make a mini-poster to hang on my bedroom wall where I’ll see it as I step out into the day: “You can’t embrace what is trying to hug you while holding onto yesterday’s junk.” I suspect its junk is all that stands between us and genuine joy. I’ll remind myself, too, that even one minute ago can be “so yesterday.”
I’ll be sharing my thoughts about “genuine joy” over the coming weeks, and about things that serve to invite more of it into our lives. What better way to begin than to practice noticing life’s little reminders that it’s on your side and just waiting for you to take its assurance that you are so dearly loved–even when you’re a mess!
The hugs are always there, you know. Go around expecting them to pop into your world at any moment. Chances are, if you think about them during the day it’s because one is trying to get your attention. And all you have to do to grab it is to let go of yesterday’s junk!
It might come as a thought, as a hope, as a new possibility. It might fall across your path as something you hear or read or see in the sky. It might come as a silver lining. A person could bring it, or the mail, or an elephant. Hugs can wear any costume you can imagine, and a bunch of them that you can’t. But every hug life gives you—never, ever forget—comes especially for you and is exactly what you need. So do remember to say thanks. Then be on the lookout for the next one. And the next. And the next.
May you go through the year with open eyes. empty arms, and a peaceful heart.
Happy New Year, my friend.
Warmly,
Susan
Image by Sasin Tipchai from Pixabay
Look how they stand, these two,
strong and holding their limbs high
as if in grateful praise, and this despite
fate’s assaults, despite the storms
they weathered so patiently, so sure.
See how they face the light, and how,
beside them, their companions dance
and raise their boughs in song.
Perhaps they know this day marks
a wondrous turning into some newborn
unknown. And look how strong
and glad they stand to greet it!
Of course you can’t walk among trees
and not look up. To miss those great limbs
with their thin twigs tracing calligraphy
against the sky would be a sin. And
besides, sometimes, the sight of their crowns
is enough to take your breath away.
I confess. In summer I give them
little more than a passing glance,
maybe a little smile or a touch
now and then. But winter has come,
and they call me, the skins of these trees.
Now I stare in awe at their colors,
at the textures and layers and designs,
each unique, each similar to the others
in its family. I could learn all their names.
But now I want nothing more than to see,
to get lost in the wonder, to find myself
moist-eyed as I drink in this song.
To see this familiar place with fresh eyes
was a gift. I felt as if I had never walked
these grounds before and now how beautiful
it all was at high noon on a winter day
with a cloud-veiled sun in the sky.
And how its quiet sang!
What called me was the long swath
of dried goldenrod, looking like a troop
of old men telling tales amongst themselves
as they kept watch over this sacred land.
I remember seeing them here in their youth,
all green seed and golden flowers.
How tall they still stand now, how glorious
the way the light touches their crowns.