High on Happiness

Archive for the ‘The Feeling of Happiness’ Category

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Think of the power the smallest glint of light contains.  The flame of a single candle can illumine a room, a heart, ignite hope, show the way.

How much more, then, can you, who are made of light, do?   What magic you have!  What beauty!

Strangers find solace in one of your smiles.   Your touch comforts and soothes.  Your gentle glance heals.

And when you turn it on, when you fill it with the breath of your heart, birds sing and stars dance in the heavens.

Shine on, gentle light.  Cast your comfort into the night and bring us home.

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Sensuous as silk, the notes slide long and low, playing lullabies, laments, or late night songs for lovers.

Or they rush like a  flock of birds shooting suddenly upward from the fields.

Or they tumble in joy like water over rocks in a winter stream.

But always they’re in motion.  Nothing stands still.

They’re lyrical, these dancing notes, sweeping and soaring as they do.

They hold all sweetness and all sorrow, all winning and all loss; it is the same to them. It is all beauty and filled with love and always, always in motion.

“Every now and then,” she said, gazing out the window, “a moment comes along that makes all the rest of them worth it.”

The day had been gray, that heavy, relentless gray that numbs your mind.  Now and then raindrops splattered the windshield as we drove along.  The rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers only added to the monotony and we wondered if would ever end.

It was like those seasons of depression you go through sometimes, colorless and dull.

But then, just as afternoon was turning into evening, the sun broke through and the hills outside the windows gleamed with a brilliant gold.

It would fade as quickly as it appeared.  But for this one fleeting moment, we were revived.  Its beauty rescued us from the gloom and reminded us that beyond the clouds, the light endlessly shines, and if you just keep going, it will break through.

As the sun sank over the horizon, the trees gazed out across the field and chatted amiably amongst themselves, as old friends do.

“Tomorrow could bring storms with lashing winds and snow,” one said, gesturing to the bank of heavy clouds that sailed by.

“Or it could be sunny,” the youngest one chirped hopefully, “and the funny little chickadees could come and hop about our branches.”

“Maybe we’ll see the deer again, now that the hunters have gone,” mused the maple.

Eventually, the clouds blew past and the stars sparkled in the clear night sky.  And the old friends fell into silence, filled with the peace of the night and the contentment of the enduring present pleasures.

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Grab a ribbon of joy and tie it on your day.  Hook one end on your bedpost in the morning and stream the rest along with you.  Take it wherever you go.

Dance it down the street and twirl it over the heads of strangers.  Let children jump rope to its swing.  Play tug of war with dogs.

Wind it around lampposts and trees.  Pin pieces on the lapels of old ladies’ coats.  Stuff handfuls of it in the hats of beggars. (There’s always more.)

Use it as an eraser on every scowl and frown you see.

At night, make a bow with the end you tied to your bedpost.  Oh, how it will decorate your dreams!

Look at it whirl!  Galaxies and electrons, cells and seas spin and splash and swirl.  Tongues and tails wag.  Butterflies and eyelids flutter.  Giraffes teeter-totter across the plains and the plains dance, too.

Hearts beat.  Lungs pump. Thoughts fly, and the moments that give rise to them.

Even the slow things dance.  Elephants and turtles lumber.  Buds unfold.  Rocks turn to sand.

It’s all one ever-changing, glorious dance, my friends, to the song of the Yes, played in the key of infinite joy.

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Even when the world is windless and drained of color, your beauty takes my breath away.

I know you give no thought to it, to the way you stand apart from the crowd, to the simplicity and balance of your life.

You think of yourself as ordinary, passing from season to season, doing what’s before you to be done.

And yet you do it all so well, with such harmony and grace.

I know that you would laugh to hear me say so, but you hold more beauty than my words could ever say.

And even in the darkness, you take my breath away.

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Oh, the fantasies that fill the air this magical, wondrous night!  The wee ones can hardly go to sleep, and the grown-ups push sleep away as they finish casting their spells.

Visions of sugarplums dance on the wind, and reindeer fly the skies.  And legends come alive.  Oh yes, legends become alive and true.

And hearts are filled with hope and with dreams, and souls are filled with light.  And even those on whom sorrow falls feel the love beneath all their longing.

And all our dreams rise: may our best hopes come true.  May there be peace and happy endings.

And high above, the twinkling stars shine, and the Great Yes bows down to enfold us.

Make Merry, Oh Children of the Earth, and lift your glasses high.   The King has come!  The King has come!  And His glory paints the sky.

We, the ivy, sing now our songs of delight in eternal life.  We bid you sing along with us, to play your drums and fife.

Oh, sing of friendship and fortune, of peace spread over the earth.  Sing in jubilation for the Sky God’s wondrous birth.

Bring on your feasts and light your lights, and let your hearts rejoice.  The Sun behind the sun is here!  Lend happiness your voice.

Make this day a festival!  Be led by joy and mirth!  The King has come, and is pouring his love over all who dwell on earth.

Sometimes, when rain falls this time of year, I think it has come in empathy for all the broken hearts, to grieve with them, to comfort them in their sorrow.  Loss is especially difficult to bear when the rest of the world is wrapped in tinsel and bright song.

And so sometimes, the rain comes, pulling its soft clouds over the dazzling sky, to sing its quiet melodies of compassion. “I am with you; I understand,” it sings.  “You are not alone.”

Sometimes it will rain all day and into the night, so great is the need for its healing.

And when it goes, it leaves behind lustrous tokens of its visit, a final message of healing and hope, small pearls of joy, reflecting the morning’s promise.  The light shall return.  Always, the light shall return.