~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
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.
The course description was accurate.
The lessons are subtle and it will take time
to understand all that is before you,
how to unravel the language,
to detect the rhythm and speed.
And after you have got that far
you can let it sink deeper, holding
your attention on it, naming nothing,
just giving it your whole self until,
with a bright spark, it touches the edges
of your understanding, pushing up
the corners of your mouth.
It will be like this now. Consider it
a class in neutrals and form.
The lessons are subtle and ask for
deep listening and observation.
Our kind, you may have noticed,
seems not to do that well. Most
can’t bother. Some persevere.
And it is for them that the season
comes, and lingers, whispering
its matchless secrets, hour after hour.
I’ve been gathering feathers for years now.
I keep these few in the miniature vases
of which I am so fond on the sill
of the window where I work in winter.
This has been their appointed spot
for a long while. Normally, my eyes
focus beyond them at the scene behind
the spruce’s boughs or at the boughs themselves
where sometimes a bird will light for a moment.
But the cold of the day has glazed the window
with sheets of ice and a garland of frost, directing
my gaze at the feathers, and I think how I love them
and the birds who gave them to me and the images
of birds they evoke in my mind, and the beautiful feeling
of freedom.
There’s something daunting about settling in at my keyboard to share some moments with you and then realizing, as I begin to type the date, that it’s Christmas!
I’m stunned. Do I need to be especially profound or something? Oh my! What does all of this mean?
I sit perfectly still, unable to form a single thought. My awareness is wholly caught up in the present, in the data my senses convey–the warmth of the room, the lamp’s golden light, the soft holiday jazz drifting through the air. From somewhere near the center of me, a stream of affection spirals into my awareness carrying images of dear ones, far and near. And the magic of the day wraps around me and sinks into me in glistening whispers of peace.
I like what I wrote about it yesterday, this most amazing moment in time: Its light touches us. Now each of us gets to decide how we’ll respond. “Who do you want to be in the light of this new day?” What a delicious question for morning to bring! It’s among her best, I’d say. “What will you do in this new day’s light?” What a gift!
I hope you know that I’m wishing you the very best as the year draws quickly to a close. I’m looking forward to traversing the coming days with you. Great challenges lie ahead. What a privilege to live in such momentous times!
I won’t keep you. I just wanted to send a Christmas hug, and to share a quote about the holiday from Mother Teresa that nicely sums things up for me as well. “It’s Christmas,” she wrote, “any time that you let God love others through you.”
To those of you who celebrate it, Merry Christmas. And to everyone, wishes for peace and joy.
Warmly,
Susan
What the woods had to say
on this Christmas Eve morning,
along with the snow covered fields,
and the creek, and the blue, distant,
cold. rolling hills, was simply this:
On this day, the light touches us
and we rise in joy. Be at peace.
You are loved, and All is well.
The place has its regulars. They come in shifts,
more or less, the little ones first, chattering
their hellos from the bare branches of the lilac
as I scatter seeds and sing my morning song,
then the woodpecker and the jays. The cardinal
had vanished for a while after the cafe closed
when I went on an October vacation. But lately
he’s been showing up from time to time.
I’m always so happy to see him.
I have a special space for him in my heart.
When I rose this morning, to my surprise,
snow covered the ground and the thermometer
read exactly 0 degrees. I opened the cafe
even before I had my coffee, and they fluttered in,
sweet dears, the instant that they spotted me.
Half an hour later, I glanced out the window
as I dished up bacon and eggs, and there,
more surprising than the morning snow,
a dozen cardinals had gathered, more
than I have ever seen at one time before,
at least half of them bright males, bobbing
down from the lilac, the females huddling
on the rocks in the new-fallen snow,
feasting together as if it was Christmas.
Winter’s arriving with a blast cold enough
to make headlines in the nation’s news.
The TV’s painted faces read the list of dire threats,
worry lines creasing their brows. Any one,
their manner implies, with any sense at all
will double check their provisions and hunker down,
even though Christmas is but three days away.
I zip up my jacket, put on my boots and gloves.
It’s the first full day of winter and I want to greet it
face to face. At the edge of the garden, I find
dried flowers and seedpods dancing in the breeze
on bleached stems, heedless of warnings or weather.
All they know is joy in the very fact of being, today,
as winter arrives, and Christmas is but three days away.
“It’s Festival Day! Today is the day that the sun’s northern visit comes to an end, and it turns southward again,” Little Pine thought as he drifted awake from his dreams. That was how the elves explained it to him.
He felt a soft wave of peace in his heart and thought some more. It was kind of beautiful the way that all the creatures on the earth got their share of the seasons. For some parts of the great world, the elves said, the seasons’ changes were dramatic. In other parts they were hardly noticeable at all. But when you looked at the whole of it, everything balanced out.
Here in his woodland world, Little Pine thought, the hours of darkness would be at their longest today. Now the creatures of the north would get their winter rest, and those of the south would be moving into their most playful cycle.
It was just like the Angel of Peace and Joy said, Little Pine thought. ‘This peace holds a perfect balance.’ And Kimberley Kindbear was right, too. No matter how this Festival Day unfolded, it would be perfect and beautiful.
As he lay there, feeling the peace of the dawn, Little Pine heard a lovely song drift across the pond. It was his friend, the holly tree, greeting Festival Day with her clear, high, welcoming song. Its beauty echoed inside Little Pine even as it crept out to every corner of the woods, waking the trees and the critters.
Little Pine rose from his sleep, calm and happy, and greeted his mother. Together they ate breakfast, listening to the holly tree’s singing. Mother Pine helped her son fasten his golden star to his crown and, kissing him on the forehead, said, “Do well, Little Pine, and have an excellent day.”
As he stepped to the edge of the pond, the holly tree’s song came to its end and there was a moment of hushed silence. Then Little Pine raised his boughs high and sang out, “Let the Festival begin!”
And all at once, the woods were filled with drumming and a flock of a hundred doves soared into the air. From the far end of the woodland, the mice began the Grand March down the long and winding trail that would take them at last to the clearing at the base of Grandfather Pine. As they went along, all the animals of the woods joined in the Grand March, the smallest first, then the middle-sized ones, and finally the deer, who were the largest of them all. After the deer, the Festival guests fell in line.
First came Grandmother Bear, and behind her the flower fairies and the dancing pony, and Marvin Monkey, who somersaulted along. Then came Marty Moose with the whistling elf boys dancing on his back, the Gingermans, with Mother Elf, and finally, the dozens and dozens and dozens of bears.
Through the woods they all marched, and the squirrels and chipmunks and woodpeckers drummed and drummed. As they reached the clearing at Grandfather Pine’s feet, the creatures formed an enormous circle, the wee ones in front, the larger ones behind them. Overhead all the woodland birds gathered, singing, and finding places to sit in the trees surrounding the clearing.
When the two big brown bears brought up the last of the March and took their places, Little Pine raised a bough in the air and the singing of the birds and the drumming stopped. Little Pine waited for the chipmunks and squirrels and woodpeckers to arrive from their drums, then he threw a whole basket of fun bubbles into the air.
They burst into music that captured the happiness in everyone’s heart and turned it into streamers of colorful light and song. Then Sugar Bear stepped into the center of the circle and raised her wand, and choir of bears began to sing. And their song filled the entire woodland with joy.
When their singing was finished, the dancing pony took center stage and delighted everyone with her prancing. Then the mice sang, and the elves told stories, the monkey tumbled, and the flower fairies danced.
After the last of the performers finished his act, everyone exchanged gifts, all of them receiving exactly what would do their hearts the most good.
The bears sang again, this time a whole range of songs. And when they were finished, the great feast began.
When everyone was full and happy, Grandfather Pine spoke, saying that the entire Festival was to honor the sun, and the Sun behind the sun, which gave life to their bodies and light to their souls that they might live with joy.
And when he concluded his remarks, he asked that everyone applaud Little Pine for all the work he had done to make the Festival a success. And a great cheer rang through the forest.
Then Little Pine spoke, saying that everyone’s contribution mattered, that everyone is a note in life’s symphony of love. And he released the rest of the fun bubbles into the air, and they showered everyone with laughter and light and song. Then everyone danced and danced until the bright moon was high in the sky.
When Little Pine fell asleep that night, after hugging all the guests good-bye, a tear of happiness rolled down his cheek and a soft smile rested on his lips. And when he was deeply into the land of dreams, another angel appeared to him.
“I am the Festival Angel, Little Pine,” she said to him. “And I have come to thank you, and to tell you, ‘Beautifully Done!’”