Tag: acceptance

Song for the Broken Things

For a few glorious days each autumn, the world sings with color. I make a point of visiting a large cemetery in a nearby town where ancient towering maples rise above the monuments and tombstones, blessing them with a rain of falling leaves. The maples’ massive boughs wear brilliant orange, scarlet, yellow, burgundy and lime that dance in the breeze and take your breath away with their splendor.

I pause now and the to read the names engraved on the granite markers, the dates that span the lifetimes of those they commemorate, some nine decades, some but a few days. Here’s a mother and father, their sons and daughters, some with their spouses and children, some without. And always I seek out the two near the center of them all that make me smile in their juxtaposition. The first one, a large marker, nearly four feet high, is engraved with the single name, “Jolly.” Behind it, the second one, equal in size, says “Moody.” When I found them, a ray of sunlight bathed Jolly’s marker, there beneath the orange trees, while Moody stood in the shade. Together, they make a poignant statement. And it seems fitting somehow that they’ll stand together until the granite crumbles away with their reflection of life-experiences: Both.

I read a poem this week by Alice Walker, “I Will Keep the Broken Things.” She describes mementos that she keeps on a shelf even though the vase is missing a piece and the woven basket’s side has a jagged hole. Then she goes on to say that she will keep the memory of someone’s laughter even though it is missing now. She thanks the broken things, the pilgrim of sorrow. And she ends by saying “I will keep myself.”

It left me with the same feeling as my stop by the markers at the cemetery. We’re all broken things, and we all have our bits of brightness and laughter as well. And we’re all worth holding in reverence. We all deserve to stand on a shelf of honor. Not because we’re perfect. But because we dare to be, to live, to weather the storms, even with our missing pieces and jagged holes, even when life steals our joy and leaves us standing in darkness.

Something larger and more ancient than us rises above us and spreads its roots through the earth on which we lie. And sometimes we get brief glimpses of its resplendence and feel its love, raining down like leaves on a light autumn breeze, whether we’re jolly or moody.

Be at peace. And whisper to the broken things, as Alice Walker did, “Thank you so much.”

Warmly,

Susan

Winds of Change

Here in west central Pennsylvania, it’s the week when autumn’s colors peak. Scarlet and golden trees glow from the hillsides and lawns, their leaves raining down in the breeze like love letters dropped from the heavens. Roadside stands have appeared with heaps of fat pumpkins and baskets of peppers, squash, onions, and tomatoes. In the fields, giant machines harvest the soybeans and corn.

Summer has slipped into memory, leaving its bounty behind. We gather it in preparation for what is to come. And here, in this moment of transition, I stand, awed, at the beauty of it all.

A mere six months ago, the trees and fields were bare, the hillsides wearing only the green of scattered pines. Patches of snow and ice still lingered as we searched the landscape for signs of spring. And now! All this bounty!

It just goes to show you that no matter how bleak the world may seem, miracles are unfolding, just out of sight. You just have to trust that everything has its season, and all of it has its own reason, however mysterious its reasoning may be.

On my window sill I have a rock engraved with the word “Change.” It’s my little reminder that change is the only constant in our world, the only thing that’s permanent.

The key to living with maximum joy is to accept the impermanence, to learn to dance to life’s changing rhythms, to welcome change as a revelation of who you are and what you value. It lets you tap your accumulated wisdom as you make choices about how to respond to its unfolding events.

Change teaches us not to cling to things, to be willing to let go of what we’re experiencing now so that we can embrace the gifts of the next now, and the next. It teaches us to be one with the present, open to all that it holds. It shakes us out of our dreams, waking us, alerting us that a spacious reality is beckoning, full of possibilities and wonders.

Change shows us that life is always in motion. Change is the music, and life is the dance.

The seasons change. The weather changes. All things come and go.

But remember this, too. Through your choices, you have the power to influence the direction of change. You can speak. You can be silent. You can act or be still. You can give or withhold. You can love or be unkind. And each of these choices makes a difference in the way that things will go.

Even when change is beyond your influence—day will follow night regardless of what you do—you have the power to accept and be open, or to resist and be imprisoned by your resistance.

I can see autumn’s beauty and be filled with awe, or I can mourn the loss of summer or dread the winter’s approach.

When I open to its beauty, it energizes me. I am one with its scents and colors, with the dance of the flying leaves, with this wondrous moment, with the realization that I am alive in it and a part of it, with all its drama, and it is a part of me. And all is well, and the next moment will take care of itself.

Warmly,

Susan

A Breath of Fresh Air

The clouds were heavy and low and had been hanging overhead for days. Whether they were a mirror of my mood or I was mirroring them, I didn’t know. But I was stuck in a world of negativity, feeling oppressed, obsessed with the darkness, railing against it, forgetting how to be free, or even that freedom from it was possible.

Then, one morning, after a stormy night, I woke to sound of a bird singing from a branch outside my window, and I opened my eyes to see the sun rising into a clear, blue sky from a horizon drenched in gold. It startled me. And all at once I realized it had been there all along, this clarity, this light, just beyond the clouds.

From the time I was a child, nature has been my teacher. I grew up on the shores of the vast Saginaw Bay in Michigan, and one of the first lessons I learned was the one the waves taught me. Life has a rhythm, a constant washing in of waves. Sometimes they’re slow and gentle. Sometimes they rage and crash against the shore. But it’s always a dance, always in motion. And I was like the shore, a partner in the dance, responding the rhythms and moods of the waves, whatever they might be, harmonizing with them, and welcoming them, for they always brought gifts.

The midweek sunrise reminded me of that again. Storms end. Above the clouds, the sky is clear and sparkling with light.

Like everybody else, I fall prey to fighting against the clouds that engulf us from time to time. I forget that they have a purpose. Their darkness pulls us into ourselves, to experience the darkness within, to find the judgments and pain that are obstacles to our joy so that we may understand and release them.

That’s the key to freeing yourself from negativity’s oppression. You have to accept that it comes to you with gifts, to sit down with it and ask it what it has come to show you, what it needs from you, what it is asking you to see and understand.

On the morning when the sun returned to my life, I looked back on the clouds that were disappearing into the night to see what gifts they had left behind. Where had my thoughts been focused while they were oppressing me? What was it they wanted me to see and understand?

I had, they told me, been battling against, instead of reaching for.

Oh.

That was quite true.

I thanked them, and sheepishly smiled, glad for the reminder, rolling my eyes over the fact that this was a lesson I seemed to need to revisit again and again and again. Then I laughed. Such is the life of a joy-warrior.

But at least, for this beautiful morning, I was seeing the sunlight once more, and breathing in the springtime’s fresh air. I would take this day, I vowed, to be joyful, and grateful, and glad, and to share its light with kindness and a smile for whomever it brought my way.

Today, that’s you. And I look into your eyes and tell you, “Life is good.” Trust that, No matter what.