Peter Piper picked a peck or two here, I’ll tell you. Peppers aplenty, fresh from the field, peek from boxes and baskets, piled high, their firm flesh luring us to linger above the display. Our teeth tingle at the thought of their crunch. The buds on our tongues stand ready for the first wash of their juicy sweetness. And so we stand there at the edge of dusty country road, the sunshine bathing our shoulders, the piquant aromas of onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, garlic, melting beneath this one peppery smell. The farm wife bags our bounty with a smile and carefully counts out our change, wishing us a good day. With a heap of bags strewn across the car’s back seat, we drive off, breathing the fragrance of heaven.
Morning comes laughing, pulling you from your cobweb of dreams into the spaciousness of a new day.
“Here,” she says, pouring her light all over your head, “have some freshly brewed hues. They should get you going.” And all of a sudden, there’s nothing but right now, stunning and bright.
It’s hard to argue with a sunrise. I mean here she is, dazzling across the whole sky, hauling an entire fresh day of possibilities behind her where you can write anything you please.
Why, you could change your whole life if you wanted. Who’s to stop you? Your old stories are no more real than the dreams she just wiped away.
You could push your best wishes out there, roll them right into the minutes, see where they go.
Why, with a sky this full of magic, anything is possible.
Given a choice (and always, a choice is given), choose what is loveliest. Choose those things to which your heart says, “Yes.” Choose generosity over grudging. Choose kindness over that which is mean. Let your eyes rest on that which speaks of beauty. Give your attention to that which lifts over that which pushes down. Look for the openings. Reach for what encourages over what shames, what builds over that which undermines, what heals rather than harms. Nourish your soul. Given a choice, (and always, a choice is given) choose love.
The afternoon light settles on the creek as gently as a dove and sits there, motionless, except for the ruffling of its feathery ripples, as the colors of this early autumn day spill over the rocks, and then rest, shimmering, beneath the fallen leaves.
Yesterday would have been the 76th birthday of a beloved friend of mine. He returned from the Viet Nam war with a heart full of pain, developed paranoid schizophrenia, and ended up hanging himself one cold, winter day.
I thought about him as read Even Alexander’s book Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Afterlife. If you have heard that near-death experiences are nothing more than an illusion created by a dying brain, Dr. Alexander’s vivid description of his own near-death will seriously challenge your assumptions. Until he experienced it himself, he was wholly skeptical about the reality of life after death. But given what he understood about the human brain, he knew his experience wasn’t a product of its creation.
Like most who have had an NDE, he struggles to find words to describe his own experience of what he says is so profoundly rich and beautiful that it cannot be put into the narrow framework of human language.
It’s a fascinating read. And I found comfort in it as I thought about family members and friends who have passed away.
Anyway, yesterday was my old friend’s birthday, and I raised my coffee cup to him and sang “Happy Birthday” and remembered his extraordinary personality and brilliant mind – the one that I was privileged to see and know beneath his mental illness and his pain. And I smiled inside, feeling that he got my greeting somehow and returned his own beams of love.
He was pretty convinced that the world was a dark and confusing place when he died, seeing it as being awash in danger and evil. When I read the daily headlines, I can understand how easy it might be to see things that way, and to lose hope, and to lose sight of how fully goodness outweighs the evil in the world. Dr. Alexander, by the way, says that evil exists so that we can experience free will and learn to use it wisely.
I was thinking about all these things yesterday, as I drove through the countryside collecting photos of autumn’s first days. To my surprise and delight, when I happened on a tiny farm town, down the other lane of the highway came a parade! I pulled over to watch.
A color guard of four young teens led it, marching proudly in their crisp high school band uniforms, perfectly in step, solemnly bearing their flags. Next was a big tractor, driven by an old guy in a straw cowboy hat, pulling a float with a sign that proclaimed its occupant the Grand Marshall. He was even older than the man driving the tractor, grinning broadly and waving at the people who lined the highway. The Potato Queen rode the next float, blushing and lovely in her pretty blue gown. Then came the village’s sole fire truck and a gleaming red antique car and cheerleaders from the high school showing off their newest routines. That was about the whole parade, and it looked like a third of the village’s population had come out to cheer it.
I thought about how festivals and parades will be happening all over the planet as people celebrate harvest or, in the southern hemisphere, the coming of spring. Community still thrives.
I thought about a young friend of mine who is starting college this week, and about all the young minds that are preparing themselves to be doctors and astronomers and teachers and artists, to explore the intricacies of math and science and the beauties of language and culture and the arts.
I thought about all the sports teams that will be competing now that schools are open, and about all that kids will learn from participating in them about how to handle victory and defeat, about disciple and teamwork and striving to be your best.
Yes, our world has its evils; but it is far richer in things that are good. And that’s true of each of our individual lives, too. We all have our personal mean streaks, our shadow sides and failings. But we learn from our unwise choices and keep reaching to be better, and stronger, and kinder, and to love more.
And in the end, it’s the plus side that will win out, no matter how dark things may sometimes appear.
Wishing you a week rich with awareness of life’s wondrous balance and beauty. May it comfort you in times of loss and darkness and shine its light on all your days,
Here’s the thing about autumn. You forget, no matter how vivid your memory, the way that it dazzles, the way it makes you believe that you’ve seen nothing like this before, nothing this stunning, nothing that stops you in your tracks holding your breath to get your bearings. How can this be, this outpouring of gold? This sudden shining? It’s as if the robes of the Yes Itself were unfurling right there before you.
When the world seems to be falling all around you, climb up to a bit of higher ground. A new point of view can change everything. Where there were obstacles, spaces open, pathways appear. Signs emerge to point you in the right direction. And letting go of your confusion, you will come to see that it’s all quite beautiful after all.
You can’t go from emerald to crimson overnight. No great work happens in the blink of an eye. First you need a vision: Let us paint these woods in autumn hues. Then you may begin. And once you have begun, you must keep on. A swath of red here, a bit of gold there, some orange, a touch of yellow. Keep on, hour by hour, trusting, singing work’s joy, knowing your vision was born of the Yes and that the Yes will unfailingly guide your hand.
So it’s official now. You’re leaving. This is the last day of your stay. I understand that you must go.
If my eyes glisten as I walk beside the wetlands, it is only because you are so beautiful.
If I sigh as your winds blow through my hair, it is only to join the poplars in their song.
If I pluck an aster and hold it to my heart, it is to press the essence of you into my being that I may feel your warmth when the cold winds howl.
I will drink your clouds this day and breathe the fragrance of you. And when you send that one, last monarch butterfly to cross my path, I will stand without moving and watch, until, like you, it disappears.
Summer is packing her bags now, saying her farewells, lowering the lights, gathering her greens, ushering the last of the songbirds toward the southern horizon. At night, as she sleeps, autumn tiptoes in, and smiling at all that summer has done, kisses her forehead and breathes gold over the land to bless her wondrous work.
