I finally got around to harvesting the herbs today–the lemon balm, the mints, the oregano. I put if off as long as I could. They have been delightful companions since they first popped from the ground all those weeks ago.

I let my mind drift back to those days. It was early spring. So many life-changing events have played out in the world since then that it’s almost as if we’re in a different corner of the universe somehow.

It’s hard to think about how life was as the year began. It is for me, anyway. I liked what we called normal in those days. I sometimes grieve its loss.  Now I feel as if I’m living in some kind of sci-fi, nightmarish, action-packed, heart-rending tragicomedy where everything is at stake. And there’s this huge war going on, a battle for mastery of the planet between what some call the Evil Empire and us, the Human Race. They’re after our minds and our souls. And the fog of war is thick; our perceptions and interpretations can be deceiving. The bad guys, who would enslave us, are sly and tricky beings. They come in many disguises, with marvelous tales. We have to be wise, continuously questioning everything, holding to our truest light when making choices. As I said, the bad guys are sly and come in many disguises. It’s amazing how smooth they can be at winning your trust.

The fragrance of the herbs catches my attention and snaps me back into the here and now. The dream world has vanished completely, instantly evaporating away. I hear the quiet purr of the dehydrator’s fan. The refrigerator is humming. The windows are dark now. Only the soft light from the pink LED amp illumines the kitchen. I hear a car pass on the road outside.

I’m making tea with some of the mint, and I take it off the heat to let it steep. I can’t resist pouring some into a little china cup to get first dibs on the taste.

A friend calls. His brother in California is buying an newer electric car, a Lucid Air or something. I remember that the name made me think of lucid dreaming. (Maybe this is all just one, big, shared lucid dream?) We talk cars, food, the arrangements in our lives designed to prevent the spread of the Rona any further. Somehow we get into talking about opossums and tell our possum stories. I tell him I brought my house plants inside. Summer vacation is over.

I walk into the kitchen after the call, carried by the fragrance of the drying herbs. I think of Modoulamin and say a prayer for him. I want to begin writing about all the things I have learned from our friendship. He’s been quite a teacher. Still is.

I take my tea to the table and seat myself at the keyboard there. What I had intended to tell you about in today’s letter was my re-discovery of a wonderful mind-hack. But then I got mesmerized by the fragrances and hurled into the dream. Anyway, here’s the hack of the day: Instead of saying “I have to,” say, “I get to.”  I used it today, and what a difference it made! Try it! You’ll love it!

Here’s what triggered it. I had been looking over my do-list at the pending projects that needed to be accomplished in the next 2-3 weeks. It felt a bit heavy and daunting. Later, I I ran across this wonderful quote from poet and naturalist Diane Ackerman. “Play is our brain’s favorite way of learning.”

Play! I’d forgotten how to play! “I get to harvest the herbs today!” I said to myself, remembering. And so I did. And how it felt like refreshing, joyous, meaningful play!

l will be enjoying the fragrance for hours and hours. It feels like a reward.

I’m going to sit down with my tea, turn on some social media and see what’s happening in our upside-down world now. I laugh remembering a cartoon I saw. A woman was pulling back her window curtain to reveal a rising sun. “I wonder what chapter of Revelation we’re on today,” she said.

At times, the changes do seem biblical.

But let me leave you with yet another quote about how to get through it all:

“Smile, breathe and go slowly.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

That’s beautiful advise. Life is good. Remember to play.

Warmly,
Susan

This week I noticed that chicory was blossoming on the roadside now. I’ve never been particularly fond of it, despite the lovely blue of its flowers. As it it were up to me to judge, I considered the flowers too sparsely spaced on its lanky stems.

Still, it was a marker of the season’s march. And now, here it was, dotting the roadside along with the Queen Anne’s lace and the wild daylilies. I should, I decided, take its picture.

 The day I chose to do it was filled with rain until well into the afternoon, and the blossoms had curled inward in a gesture of self-protection. Something about that touched me. I felt a little wave of tenderness wash over me as I hunted for one that had dared to open.

 When I found one and focused my camera’s lens on it, I discovered a design far more intriguing than I ever would have imagined. And I walked away with an appreciative smile, grateful for the revelation that looking closely brought me.

 Sometimes looking at something differently is all it takes to see in it a treasure that you never suspected was there. The key is to be open to appreciation, to holding an openness to being surprised by wonder, or compassion, or admiration, or delight.

 Appreciation for beauty or excellence is one of the character strengths I’ve been mentioning in my last few letters. This quality of appreciation is also described as a capacity for awe, that ethereal feeling that comes when you see how truly something approaches perfection, how it’s just right, exactly as it is.

 When we open yourself to being appreciative, everything–and everyone– holds potential for bringing us joy. At the very least, we begin to see how everything is working toward fulfilling its purpose, even when it currently seems to be falling far short. Even when it isn’t as we, personally, would prefer it to be.

Sometimes, as I said, it’s just a matter of looking at things differently. Instead of looking at what’s wrong or upsetting, we can open ourselves to finding what’s good, what’s right, what effort is being made. We can set aside our judgment and our preferences and look to see more of what is there. We can look closer, or from a different angle. We can consider things from a higher perspective, or from one that takes into account the context, or at where things are in terms of their development in time.

A five-year-old’s performance at a dance recital won’t hold the same kind of beauty as that of an accomplished ballerina. But appreciation for it can transform it into one of the dearest things you’ve ever seen.

The old man’s hands may be wrinkled and gnarled. But you can see in them a lifetime of work.

The rioter setting a storefront ablaze may fill us with anger, but we can stand farther off and appreciate his passion and pain and be moved to do what we can to make our nation a more just and virtuous one.

We can learn to appreciate life’s difficult and distressing times for the insights they bring about what we can do, minute by minute, to strive for more harmony, compassion, and excellence in our own lives.

Appreciation teaches us to look within as well as without, to discover what’s good and beautiful about ourselves, and to decide to share those things more fully with the world. So appreciate your kindness, your sense of humor, your discipline, your creativity, your smile. Appreciate your talents and skills, your determination, your honesty, your generosity, your thrift, your faith.

Really. Take the time to do that. Hold open a willingness to see what’s good in you. And treat yourself to appreciating the goodness and beauty and excellence that surrounds you. It’s always there. Sometimes, as the chicory taught me, it’s just a matter of looking at things differently.