The creek is all but dry now, the rocks that make up its bed exposed. Feeling the dry air against their surfaces they remember the high places from which they fell ages ago, and before that, the eons they spent inside the earth’s womb until a thunderous tumult pushed them upward through earth’s crust to touch, at last, the sky. They recall the way that trees grew between them, winding their great roots in a living caress, freeing them, one by one, to tumble downward, to begin their long journey through this so cool and wondrous home.
I am a dream collector. I gather your dreams and carry them high into the velvety sky. And there they float, warmed by the sun, charged by the electric sparks of a billion stars, drifting on the cosmic tides.
That’s where the dance begins. Your dreams begin to glide toward other’s dreams, drawn to those that share your heart’s desire. A hope for peace joins with another hope for peace in a shimmering web. A love of invention joins another one. Comfort joins comfort. Healing joins healing. And each dream in the network contributes its views to all the others, keeping its own identity, being enlarged by what the others give. And the whole is a wondrous ballet, and a song.
And just as raindrops fall when the clouds grow full, so do dreams descend back to earth and come true in the life of each dreamer, every one at exactly the right place and time, guided by a wisdom far beyond my own. But it is a downpouring of love, compassionate and joyous. And that is all I need to know.
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, well over half a century now. And still you’re with me, smiling outside my kitchen door. I drink in your purple, share the morning sun, and smile, remembering old friends.
A friend told me that if I see something that I want to save in my memory, to blink my eyes at it, deliberately, as if my eyelids were a camera’s shutter. It works for me. And when I use it, I sometimes suppose that maybe that’s what the earth is doing when she closes her eyelids at night. Remembering. Everything. Just in case, overnight, it disappears. I join her in her intention, carrying with me as much as my soul can hold. Just in case we’re the last ones ever to visit this most amazing place. You never know.
After a day of clear and cloudless skies, sunset took us by surprise. And not only us. July herself almost forgot the time of day.
At the very last minute, she whistled for the winds and they blew in a batch of rolling fluff so her chance to paint the evening wouldn’t pass her by. She grabbed deep lavender and shades of gold and hurled them, laughing, against her canvas of clouds. With her broadest brush, she swirled the colors together, heaping them in layers against the blue and glowing sky.
“Good one, July!” we cried, applauding from our porch chairs as we watched the sudden show.
Then, as quickly as she’d brought it, she hurried it away, trading it for a blue that melted into indigo sparkled with fireflies and stars.
We sat there, quietly chatting, feeling the glow long after the of last gold faded away.
Now and then, when the world seems wholly askew, it’s good to walk where serenity reigns, where all the pieces effortlessly flow together and make sense.
To walk in such a place is to begin to understand that this is a hint of the whole and of its nature, given to remind you that the situation is far larger than you had at first assumed.
You can tell by the way your heart is at peace here, as if this is a swatch of your true, spacious home, as if this is a deeper truth than turmoil tells. You can tell by the way your trust flows out to meet it. Somehow, you realize, all is exactly as it is meant to be. You do not need to understand; that will come in its own time. For now, simply breathe in this infinite calm, this limitless reassurance, this perfect, all-loving Yes.
“I like rainy days the best,” an old artist told me. “That’s when the colors shine true.”
I understood what he meant. The same holds true for people as well. When the clouds are the thickest and it seems that the stream of troubles will never end, you find out who’s got enough perspective to smile, to reach out with a helping hand, to speak a sincere and encouraging word.
Circumstances are just that, you know – good or bad only because we label them so. To the lily, hours of endless rain are no reason not to dance.
So here we are, at Step Three of the “Recipe for Happiness.” This one tells us that once we have learned Step One, letting go of what’s gone, and Step Two, that says to be grateful for what’s left, we’re ready for the final step. And I confess that I found this one a real challenge. It’s message is to “Look forward to what is to come.”
We who inhabit this planet seem to be living in an increasingly precarious and uncertain time. As I’ve mentioned before, I kind of like the phrase “The Great Shaking,” to describe what’s going on. A lot of us feel shaken by unexpected happenings in our lives these days, on both personal and global levels. It can be hard to maintain hope for the future when you’re in the midst of insidious and confusing events.
But hey, if you’re a Joy Warrior, you have to give optimism at least a chance. So I wrestled a bit with the thought of looking forward to what’s to come, and I cobbled together this little positivity approach:
The Invisible Positivity Globe
Leave open a space for the possibility of happy endings. Things could work out very well–better than you ever imagined.
Go ahead; try this: Fantasize about clearing out a little corner of your mind, maybe over there on a shelf. Now take an invisible little energy globe into your hand and ask it to hold the possibility that a superb outcome will emerge. Just the possibility. Then tuck that little globe on the shelf. (A friend of mine keeps all her ideas-to-explore on such a shelf. Poking around in there can be a fascinating experience. You learn so much, she tells me. And it’s so interesting and insightful! And fun!) Anyway, now you’ve created a space with your little globe that you can turn to at any time to see what positive possibilities it’s projecting.
Some friends and I used to call looking for possibilities “fishing in the cosmic soup.” All kinds of surprising ideas are there. And that little invisible globe over there on your shelf? It’s the holder of the energy-nuggets in the soup that are made of peaceful and positive possibilities. They swirl around inside your little globe as you gaze at it, projecting them onto its invisible walls, and they become daydreams for you, any time you want to see them.
Listen, every path has its rocky stretches. It’s part of the package deal you were given when you arrived here. The ugly stretches come. But we keep going, even when we feel lost and maybe even afraid. Then, sooner or later, here comes another unexpected turn. It opens to a world of radical clarity and calm, offering you a smooth and winding path that stretches as far as the eye can see. Imagine that! Play with imagining what your ideal world would look like.
For a long time I was amazed that the world worked at all, so great was its chaos. Little did I know that even greater causes for amazement were quickly sliding down the pike. But here they are. And the more I see of what’s going on here, on this interesting planet of ours, the more amazed I am indeed, given all this shaking, that the world works at all. Life can be bewildering. Scary even. You have to watch out for what some call “fear porn.” That’s a craze going on that’s helllbent on making us all very afraid. Some say it’s part of a plan. Who knows! Everything seems a bit surreal these days. Just learn to check in with your thoughts now and then. And remember what I recently shared with you: You can’t stop thoughts from knocking at your door, but you don’t have to entertain them.
You can always return to the present and look around to see what’s happening here, now. It’s a good place to visit as you go about your travels through this movie of your life. And when things seem rocky and your hope is sliding away, take a few minutes to visit your positivity globe. Let it show you some of the countless ways that things could work out for the good, for us all. Because, you know, they can.
First isn’t always best. Oh, it’s daring alright, with its thirst for adventure, and someone must try the waters, scout the way. But most must fill the middle, and some stand at the end. If you’re one of those, the last guys, don’t envy those who went before, but thank them. They are, after all, the scaffolding on which you stand, affording you the broadest view, the one that experience alone provides. Your turn is coming. Meanwhile, watch and listen. Let the best of what you see feed you with wisdom and grow your strength. Then, when the light signals your time, blossom boldly, singing your truest song.
I scan the morning’s headlines over coffee. It’s the usual nightmare of conflict, corruption and crime. As if I’d swallowed a cup of cement, the news pulls me down, burying the morning’s hope in its weight. But then I notice that the sun is shining, and it pulls me out the door. My eyes see the clear sky, the light filtering through the summer leaves. My heart , however, is still heavy with sorrow for us all. “Go to the park,” a soft voice whispers inside me. “Take a walk, clear your head.” So I go.
After a while, I wander toward the garden. And there, perched atop an echinacea, a tiny creature looking like a winged horse, its face painted like a circus pony, sits sipping nectar. “Are you real?” I ask, astonished. But there is no doubting it. Or the song that my heart begins to croon. Here, in this now, is Yes, is beauty. Here, in this now, reality expands, filled with joy and waking. And everything else is but dream.
