~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
There’s no plush carpet here,
no beige walls or polished surfaces.
No sir. What you have before you
is a virtual riot of gladness,
an unrestrained jubilee,
sprung to life all of its own accord.
Kinda wild you say? Exactly.
No committees, no policies,
no locks, or clocks or alarms,
no written plan, no codes,
no outlined parking spaces.
It’s nothing but rampant joy
set loose and bursting
with freedom. Sorta makes you
want to let out a holler,
kick up your heels, don’t it?
Here, in the world where time flows,
not everything happens at once.
The symphony has its movements,
its measures. It has its rhythms
and moods. Each thing unfolds
according to its nature, coming
when it is meant to come, leaving
when it is meant to go. Trust that.
It may not always seem so, given
the limitations of our view. But
after sufficient seasons have passed,
your heart begins to know that
time has a way of doing things
in the right order.
Everything is possible.
The rain-dreams of trees, for example,
can summon rain on a summer day.
The wishes of butterflies can open flowers.
Send a loving thought anywhere; it will find its way.
Dream of peace, and you will feel it unfold,
spacious and free, in your own heart.
Ask anything of the dawn. Then follow
where it leads you, and believe.
June blows in, all vivid and warm,
and flying the colors of summer.
In her sky, hawks soar in great circles
beneath huge whipped cream clouds.
Iridescent damsel flies and butterflies
flit through the irises and peonies.
Leaves dance. The grass sings.
Everything’s in motion. Children bare
their feet and run across the lawns,
whooping the sounds of freedom.
June laughs at the boisterous welcome,
sends a quick, loud thunderstorm
as if in response. Then she smiles,
unfolds her green wings and settles in,
her gossamer gown swirling around her,
hiding gifts in every fold.
No matter how I dream of you when the nights are long
and the air is devoid of song and frozen, you never fail
to exceed my expectations. You come with your flowers
and perfumed breath, with the songs of a thousand birds
in tow. And the earth wakes and births miracles. And hope
sings again in the morning skies, and love falls in raindrops
and dances in the light of the sun. I cannot help
but say that I have tasted heaven in your hours.
It is no wonder that the sky itself sometimes weeps at your going,
no wonder that fresh flowers open to offer you their thanks.
My own heart flowers with gratitude, too. My own eyes
weep at your passing. But my tears are more of joy than sorrow,
because you brought me hope, and life, and love.
Farewell, sweet May, until we meet again. Farewell.
The variegated hosta is in full swirl now,
the sight of it transporting me
back to my early childhood days
when I’d stretch out my arms,
toss back my head and spin until I fell down,
the green of the trees swirling still,
until it all finally came to rest.
For timeless hours, I would lay in the cool grass,
breathing its perfume, watching the leaves
of the cottonwoods, poplars, maples and oaks
sway in the breeze from the bay, while above them
white gulls soared, their calls cascading down
through the canopy of May’s luscious greens.
Now, at my feet, hosta plants unfold fat leaves
beneath the lilac blossoms as damsel flies play.
Everywhere, green abounds in countless forms,
each one a masterpiece and perfectly placed.
Above me noisy crows fly in the deep blue sky.
All of this, so swiftly come, the fulfillment
of a promise. And now, so swiftly passing.
May’s sweet finale begins now with a sweep
of trumpets and bells, its pastel tones rising high
into the perfumed air. Larks come, and robins,
to carry the song to the trees, to the sky.
May herself waltzes the fields, strewn with
her violets and phlox, buttercups and clover.
Rainbows flow from her feet as she goes
and the grasses bow to her song.
Across the forests and meadows her song sings,
over the green rolling valleys and hills.
And it sounds like love and wraps itself softly
over all the wee creatures she brought to the world.
“May you flourish, dear children,” she sings.
“I leave you the gift of my joy. May you thrive,
sweet babies, I love you.” And she whispers
her tender goodbyes.
I was reminded again, after watching the events the past week brought us, of one of the most valuable teachings I ever learned. I’ve shared it with you before, but this seems like a good time to remind you about it, too. It’s this counsel from Tara Brach about what to do when you find that you’re in distress. Say this to yourself, she says:
This is suffering.
Everybody suffers.
May I be kind.
I’m always comforted by it. It lets me put a name to what I’m feeling: suffering. Then it reminds me that I’m not alone, that suffering is something every human being everywhere experiences. That’s kind of a deep thing to realize. None of us escapes pain—physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Life here isn’t for sissies. It puts all of us to the test.
Knowing that, the only worthwhile response is to be kind. Accept that at one time or another, life is painful. Reality here has a brutal streak. And in the face of it, kindness is a healing balm. It washes over the scene with a gentle warmth. It ever so subtly brings a soft light to things, allowing us to feel a spaciousness wide enough to see beyond our pain, to sense the love around us, too. Let yourself remember a moment of kindness you experienced and notice how it lifts you just to think of it.
The first place to focus your kindness when you’re in distress is on yourself. Imagine giving yourself a gentle, compassionate hug, one that conveys that it deeply understands what you’re feeling. You’re human. Pain comes with the territory. Let it be what it is; it will pass.
Then, once you open yourself to being accepting and kind towards yourself, however slightly, let it flow out to everybody. You never know what’s going on inside somebody else’s skin. It could be that the person right next to you needs a friendly smile as much as you do. Let your kindness touch the entire situation you’re in—everything and everyone involved.
A friend of mine sometimes says, “Love isn’t a feeling; it’s an action.” I think of that when I think about what kindness is. Just because you aren’t feeling especially generous toward someone doesn’t mean you can’t treat them with respect and consideration. Kindness means you look past your own troubles to try to help lift the load for somebody else.
And the beautiful thing is that kindness generates a kind sort of feedback loop. It’s like instant karma, returning to you the love that you give, multiplied.
I know I often encourage you to “tuck this one in your pocket,” that I hope you’ll adopt a quote or an exercise as part of your own tool chest. But I especially hope you’ll gift yourself with this one. You have your own way to store things in your mind. Maybe you make a written note of it, Maybe you just practice chanting it until you feel it embedding itself in your memory. Whatever means you use, use it with this one: “This is suffering. Everybody suffers. May I be kind.” Its benefits are real, and healing, and strong.
Wishing you a week of peace and ease.
Warmly,
Susan
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
The afternoon is moist and drenched with the fragrance of lilacs,
and low clouds hang in sky. The world feels dreamlike,
its colors muted, its birdsong subdued. Rainstorms are coming,
but not until nightfall. You can feel their approach in the air.
And something else, too, is approaching, but you can’t say what.
All you can do is stand there, still, waiting, watching.
From the corner of your eye, you catch a movement,
a dark, darting streak and you turn your head to see, there,
on the peony leaves, a damsel fly, the year’s first, its tail
an iridescent turquoise and blue, its sheer wings black
in the day’s low light. It seems a sign somehow,
a signal that magic is afoot. Quick! Make a wish!
Ask to hold onto this moment forever.
In the late afternoon, a storm moved in.
The trees, busy unfolding new leaves,
were unafraid, having seen storms before.
They knew what to do: Stand strong;
bend, unresisting, with the blows.
And when the storm has passed,
honor what has fallen with your reverence
and love, even though you mourn your loss.
Then stand, and let the sun warm you.
Continue unfolding your leaves.