High on Happiness

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Morning had to push hard against the leaden sky to make her entrance.  And even then, she came draped in shrouds of gray like some weary ghost of herself.

We ate heaps of scrambled eggs and spread our toast with red jam, not so much for the flavor, but because we were starving for color.  The late night TV had promised snow.  Even that would be a break in the monotony.   But none came.

And noon was no cheerier than morning as it dragged its long hours across the threshold.  We resigned ourselves to the dreariness and went about our tasks with all the industry that we could muster.

Outside, as if it was rushing our subliminal prayers to the gods, a wind began to sweep through the trees.  And as if in answer, the clouds broke into puffs and the day spread its last light, bright and golden over the final hours of the day.  And we gathered great armfuls of thanks and hurled them into the cold air, laughing, and grateful, and glad.

Deck the boughs with balls so jolly
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Bring the cheer on!  Yes, by golly!
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Sing we joyous, all together,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Of the love that lasts forever
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Rising from sleep’s gossamer layers, we flow into the day, the night’s riches and rubble tumbling in a shadow play against the waking light.

Shall we hold those fading images?  Coax them to spill their secrets? Wring them of their worth?

I’m told that’s what the wise ones do and become the wiser for it.

Or shall we just trade them for the brightening thoughts that are tugging us into the day and go on, as if nothing of consequence had happened?

The valley was filled all day with heavy mists and rain, looking spooky with the crooked arms of the bare trees silhouetted against it.  I dreamed last night of cats, and this morning one cried at my bedroom window.

I heated apple cider, stirred it with a cinnamon stick come all the way from Ceylon, and listened to the rain, clawing like sharpened fingernails against my window, the wind whining down my chimneys, crows calling to one another through the cold, wet air.

It was late afternoon before the rain stopped and the fog cleared away.  From across the creek, I heard coyotes howl.

Then Old Sol, the Jack of all Lanterns, threw his light on the distant hills, turning them Halloween orange.

I watched bats circle above the trees, gave the cat some milk, and bit into a pumpkin drop cookie.

Long before last winter’s snows had melted, Mother pictured this day.  Not that this is the ultimate one.  That is still to come.

But today was one of the milestones, a Sunday in August when wild sunflowers would stall tall beside the lake, the pale, fluffy blossoms of the joepyweed beside them, their colors reflecting in the waters at their feet.

She decided to plant them at the base of the beloved old tree, the one whose life had passed now into other realms of being.  They could sing in memory of it and be a token that, here, life goes endlessly on.

Across the lake, she envisioned cattails, whose tall strong reeds would frame the scene when viewed from afar, and grasses that would yellow just in time to echo the sunflower’s bloom.

Today, her plan came together, taking on tangible form.  And gazing at it, she smiled gently and sent her thanks to all the elementals who had worked so tirelessly to bring it about.

Many more days of beauty lay ahead, of course, before winter’s curtain would fall again on this year’s production.   Her scenes were kaleidoscopic, an ever-changing panorama of beauty.

But this day was one of her favorites, and her heart swelled with a sense of fulfillment and pride as she watched its moments unfold.

You can choose to feed with the gaggle, ingesting the common fare.

But if you hear a drumbeat calling from somewhere over there,

And its rhythm sets you dancing and makes you want to sing,

You’d be wise to follow it and see what it will bring.

It might not be very easy to walk away from the crowd.

They might taunt and tease you, and laugh at you out loud.

Just hold your head up high as you go; listen to your dream.

In the end it will crown you with honor, success and high esteem.

A change of pace, a break in the routine, a good stretch, a brisk walk, a nap, twenty minutes of meditation—what renewal a rest can bring!   The mind needs an island of space every now and then, a mental vacation, just to be, to relax, to unwind, to play.

When you feed your mind with little getaways from life’s stresses and demands, you free it to return to its wide, spacious realms.   There, all the pieces fall into place, new possibilities emerge, new perspectives take shape.

Then, when you call it back into service, asking it to focus once more on the business at hand, it comes to you refreshed and paints the sky of your awareness with sweet clarity on your situations.

So, have you freed your mind today?  Oh!  I think you have!  You’re gazing at a summer field where life is rich and green, and reading these words at High on Happiness.   Good for you!

Remember, it’s here for you any time, wrapped in love.  Because you matter.

From the heart of the Great Yes, filled with its unspeakable love, light flows endlessly.  It forms the worlds and all things in them.

The atoms dance in its waves.  The cosmos sails on its splendor.

Invisible, it shows itself through all that it illumines: A summer flower, a smile, eyes that brim with its compassion and joy.  Their radiance is its signature and fulfillment.

And all that is true, and good, and beautiful reflect its perfection and grace.

So summer comes sliding in all sexy and hot.  You gotta have some spice to keep it going, a touch of flame, some long afternoons, sizzling nights.

You go jazzin down the street with the rhythm in your bones, the wind of your movement brushing across the snares, singing C’mon, baby; let’s do it.

And it’s fire hydrant fountains and the slap of rope on the sidewalk as the young girls chant and the old ladies on the stoop fan themselves with paper and sip lemonade.

And it’s all so deep and juicy.  And life’s good, man.  Life is good.

Well, actually it’s a broken humerus. Mine. Right (dominant) side.  In three places.

That’s the upper arm bone that connects to your shoulder.  It was a sort of collision between me, my friend’s rambunctious, well-muscled puppy and a fence.  The fence won.

“It’s broken,” the ER doc said after the x-rays.  He had them squirt vials of delightful drugs into my veins, put me in a sling, and gave me the phone number of a specialist to call on Monday for “follow up.”

“How do they fix it?” I asked.  He said sometimes they just keep it in the sling.  Sometimes they put pins in it.  (I picture a voodoo doll.) He was low-key, comforting as he wrote out a script for me.  Then, after telling me to rest and put ice on it, he was off to see the next patient.

The nurse helped me get into a wheel chair, since the delightful drugs were kicking in really well.  “Three breaks,” she said in a kind of confidential tone.  The number flashed in purple-pink neon in my brain.  “That sounds like surgery to me.  But then I’m just a nurse.”

I work with seasoned nurses like her every day.  I understand that she thinks I should have that possibility spelled out for me and appreciate her candor.

I’ll find out on Monday.

Meanwhile, I’m going to take a break, no pun intended, from posting new stuff here until I get my bearings.  Typing with one hand is really, really awful!  And-booooo!-taking pictures is no snap (sorry) either.

So roam around the archives for awhile.  Some really good stuff lurks there, if I do say so myself.  I’ll pop in when I can and come back with barrels of fresh joy as soon as I’m able.  If you’re not already on the mailing list, sign up now and you’ll get my “I’m baaaack!” letter the very minute I can send it.

(She exits, stage right, blowing kisses.)