High on Happiness

Archive for the ‘The Feeling of Happiness’ Category

The half-mile long dirt road veers sharply where the old oak grows.  It’s a landmark of sorts in these parts.

Standing at the base of a bramble-covered driveway that led to a farm house that’s no longer there, it carries within its towering limbs a thousand tales.

It’s a majestic tree.  When you stand beneath it and gaze up at its gnarled branches, you can’t help but feel a sense of awe.  It seems noble somehow, so ancient and enduring, so in harmony with the life force that flows through its massive form.

It’s the epitome of strength and of benevolence, affording a home to countless generations of insects, squirrels and birds, shading the wildflowers that grow beneath it, feeding small creatures with its abundant crop of nuts.

I don’t know why, exactly, but when I stand beneath it I feel healed somehow, as if it has given me some of its strength and shared a silent message.  I sense its deep roots extending into the earth below me and feel my own rootedness.  I see its branches extending outward and upward and I’m inspired to reach upward and outward as well.  I see how it flourishes, despite its antiquity, and I’m encouraged to endure, and to dance, as it does, in harmony with the life force that flows on and on and on.

And so I sing its strength tonight, and share it with you.  It’s given me such blessings.  The least I can do is pass a few of them on.

The cherries are blushing with ripeness now and dangle from the tree like a crowd of jingle bells.  I can almost hear their tintinnabulation in the breeze.

“Tintinnabulation” – a glorious word, that.  It comes from the Latin word for bell, and from tintinnare, which means “to jingle.”  Unless you read Edgar Allen Poe in school, you probably never heard it before.

It’s not a word that pops lightly into my thoughts on a regular basis either.  It came to me tonight by Special Delivery.

I had just selected and named today’s photo when my phone rang.  It was my dear old chum, Michael, calling from half way across the country just to say hello and to tell me a story from our high school days.

I had set out, it seems, to help Michael build his vocabulary, and for every ten words he learned, I rewarded him with a kiss.  One of the words, he said, was “tintinnabulation,” and not only has he remembered it all these years, but often when he hears a bell ring he thinks to himself, “It must be Susie calling.”

Personally, having watched the movie A Wonderful Life a zillion times, I associate the ringing of bells with angels getting their wings.  But either way, the ringing of a bell means joy.

And whether its jingle rings silently from cherry trees or comes pealing as memory across the years, may you share its abundance freely and taste its sweetness on your lips.

.

Joy rides photons as if they were bobsleds, careening through space, zipping past stars, sliding through the curves of space-time into matter just for the sheer dazzle of it.

And once it gets there, it blazes into invisible color and erupts into soaring silent song.  It sparkles its bliss like confetti, flinging it with abandon into the waters and winds.

And you drink it and breathe it without even knowing and it tastes like harmony and when you’re filled with it all you can see is beauty and the dancing spectrum of light.

You think this is a fairy tale or some fantastic story.  But it’s the nearest that truth can squeeze into words to tell you that you’re made of joy, that it’s in you, forever and always.  Drink the water.  Breathe the air.

.

.

.

A ladybug on a leaf, the slant of the late afternoon sun highlighting the plant’s veins and the color of its stem,  the grace of its pattern against the sky . . . how poignant and lovely this simple gift of joy, so freely given.

Sometimes it’s enough just to walk the earth with eyes open to her wonders, to breathe the summer air, to feel the warmth of the sun, to smell the fragrances of the field, to hear the crickets’ song.  Sometimes it fills me with such richness that I can want for nothing more.

.

.

.

Today, for the first time in weeks, I got to walk in the fields.  As I rounded the bend that yielded the first glimpse of the back 18 acres, my heart leaped with joy.  The goldenrod was in bloom!

A field full of goldenrod is an amazing sight.  For me, it’s at once the golden crown of summer, given in celebration to mark its last days, and the first grand sweep from autumn’s palette. The intensity of the color takes your breath away, and you can’t help but be happy walking through it.

I call these season-spanning the days the golden days.  And how fitting, I think, is their color.  It’s the hue of balance, of the golden mean, placed between summer’s rampant growth and winter’s rest, between the sizzle and the freeze.  Everything’s nearly at its peak of maturity and fullness . . . the plants in the fields, the leaves on the trees, the spring’s generation of deer and rabbits, beaver and raccoons.  And the goldenrod shouts “Bravo! Well done!”

Time seems to pause, here at the year’s zenith, as if to give us the chance to take in the wonders the season has wrought before it passes away.  Soon it will crescendo into harvest time and painted leaves will dance and fall, bringing the play to a close.  But here, in the golden days, we have this chance to look about us at the magnificent abundance and to gather it with gratitude and gladness into our hearts.

For all life’s unexpected turns, it’s patches of shade and shadow, its dips into deep valleys and challenging climbs back to the light, isn’t it, still, such a lovely, winding road?

For all its unwanted goodbyes, and nights of fear-filled darkness, its frozen winters and days of endless rain, isn’t it, still, such a matchless journey?

Think of the eyes that look into your own with love.  Think of touching a baby’s toes.  Think of watching a sunrise, of hearing a child’s laugh.

Think of the fragrance of lavender, the texture of velvet, the sound of waves lapping on the shore.

Think of fat clouds in a blue sky, heaped taller than mountains.  Think of mountains and forests and deserts and seas.

Think of your childhood and all you have done since then.  Think what it will be like, looking back on today when you’ve traveled twenty more years.  Think what your face will look like when you’re eighty.

Think of the fun you have had, the work you have done, the friends you have made, the places you’ve seen.  Think of all the music you know, the stories you have heard, the books you have read, the games you have played, the arts you’ve enjoyed, the teams you have cheered.

Think of the warmth of sunlight on your skin on an early spring day, of a sky full of stars and air full of song.  Think of the fragrance of freshly mown grass and of lilacs and of the ocean.

Think of walruses and penguins, of butterflies and kangaroos.  Think about a camera flying light years into space to send you postcards from the nebulae and galaxies.

Think of all thoughts you have thought, the facts you have learned, the puzzles you have solved.  Think of all the questions that have never been answered and never will be.  Think of all the dreams you have dreamed and of those that still wait for you to make them come true.

Think of all the emotions that have coursed through your soul, the passions and the longing, the hilarity and the peace.  Think how your lungs have breathed so much air, how your heart has pumped whole rivers of blood through your veins.  Think how wondrous ears are, and eyelids.

Think of all the people you have touched and loved and who have loved and touched you.

Oh yes.  For all its dips and shadows, isn’t it, still, such a lovely, winding road?

The beautiful thing about joy is that is comes in so many colors.  Sometimes it’s quiet and deep, sometimes it sings in leaping flames, sometimes it dips itself in the sunrise and paints its whole spectrum across the length of your day.

Entire days of joy are as rare as rainbows, I admit.  But almost always you can find a patch or two of joy somewhere:  A smile here, a laugh there, a moment of connection with someone you love, a song that moves you, a surprise unfurled.

The trick is to pick them up when you find them; stick them in your happiness pouch.  At the end of the day, string them all together in a little feast of savoring and delight.

The more you do that, the more joy-moments you’ll find.  And one day, when you sit down to look back through the hours and see what your happiness bag holds, a whole rainbow of joy will pour out on your floor.  And your eyes will mist over a bit at the sight of it as you realize how beautifully you’ve been blessed.

Take time for some moments of ease in your life, some moments for letting cares go.  Few are the problems that will not wait, or benefit, from being forgotten for awhile.

Walk somewhere that you can see a tree, a flower, the broad expanse of sky.  Walk easily, as if all the time in the world was yours (for it is, you know, and you’re free to spend it as you will).

Sit on a patch of grass.  Rifle your hands through it and feel how alive it is.  Feel the soil beneath it, the stuff that gives birth to everything that sustains us.  Breathe the air; inhale its fragrances; feel its warmth.

Hear the world’s music.  The delicate rustling of leaves, the chirping of birds.  Pretend you’re a kid again: Cup your hands over your ears and roll them forward and back and listen to the sounds change and laugh at the miracle of hearing.

Look at the wondrous expanse of sky, its light veiling the cosmos.  Watch the heaped clouds, made of nothing but water, floating on the wind.

Study it all as if you were seeing it for the first time, or as if you had just been told that in two weeks you would be blind.  See the spectrum of hues and shades, the patches of light, of reflection, of shadow.  See the magnificent complexity of it all, the precision of its design—all purposeful, all pleasing.

Let it pour into you like warm honey.  Taste its sweetness.  Feel your connection to it, for this is your home.

The small pleasures, the moments of sweetness and ease, are balm for the soul.  Make time for them, and they will bring you healing and joy.

Imagine a rampant happiness leaping, wild and unrestrained, from one heart to another.  Imagine a contagion of joy.

Imagine it bursting in boisterous grins, untamed giggles, wanton winks, for no reason at all.

Imagine all it took to ignite it was one exuberant spirit flashing her smile with abandon, one impetuous soul flinging his laughter into the crowd.

Imagine it grew out of control and spread everywhere until the whole world was infected with happiness, and no one could stop it or wanted to, because suddenly everyone was awake and seeing the flagrant truth.

Why, light would tumble from everyone’s eyes and flowers spring up wherever anyone stepped, and joy-cookies fall from the heavens.  And we would all be healed, and the world would dance around its star to the melody of love songs that would never, never end.

Every moment, every hour has its beauty.  Every season unfolds with its own unique pleasures and delights.  But today I found myself falling in love all over again with summer’s color and burgeoning life.

Yes, its temperatures sometimes climb to uncomfortable extremes; but so do winter’s.  And spring and autumn have their wild sides, too.  We live in a world of contrasts, one extreme testing us, the other bringing joy.

And today I drank in summer’s beauty.  I feasted on her mild side and it tasted like perfection.  The sky wore billowing clouds that cast great swaths of rolling shadow across the landscape.  The roadsides and fields were decked with wildflowers.  The air carried the symphony of insect hum  and birdsong.  And everywhere, a heady, changing perfume floated—of hay, of grass, of pavement, of pond.

How alive it all was!  How dynamic!  And how seamless was the web of life breathing through it all, orchestrating it, integrating it, and calling each piece of it to fruition.

Its seamlessness stretched behind it to spring, and ahead to autumn and to winter.  It was all an endlessly transforming spiral, a dance of the life force through this wondrous confluence of time and space that emerges as planet Earth.

And here we are, a part of the great web, gifted with the capacity to sense that it lies beneath and within all that we perceive, animating it, supporting it, endlessly transforming it in its infinite, inexhaustible play.

And look!  The crickets are masterpieces.  The wildflowers are jewels.  The scents, floating on the summer air, are pungent and fresh and perfumed.  The breeze dances in my hair.  The sun caresses my skin.  In the pond, a bullfrog croaks and I erupt in laughter as little tears of joy well up in my eyes for the precious gift of being alive, and awake, and savoring beautiful summer.