High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘Celebration’

Whatever you have become, wherever you may be, I send you wishes, my child, on the wind.

May your days be filled with discovery and gladness.  May you walk with fine companions down smooth and sunlit roads.

May your heart be filled with hope and celebration.  May your laughter fill the skies.

May you find comfort for any pain, healing for any hurt, peace for any turmoil that may ruffle your soul.

May you continue to be playful and kind, and to brighten the spirits of all who surround you.

May you revel in adventure, and rest on sandy shores beneath a setting sun.

May beauty surround you; may goodness and truth be yours.

May you know that you will live in my heart forever, and will be forever loved.

For the gloriousness of breath and being, let your hearts erupt with joy!  For thought, and choice, and freedom, raise your hands in praise.

Dance for the depths and heights of feeling, for being moved to laughter and to tears.  Applaud the awe and inspiration, the serenity and hope, the courage and the pride, that move through you in kaleidoscopic flow, giving life texture and meaning.

Stand in ovation over the compassion that flows from your heart, and the tenderness.  Applaud the  satisfaction that follows your labors.  Applaud the hours of rest and leisure that refresh and restore.

Revel over the dawn and the brightness of noon, the sweep of sunset’s hues, the midnight’s starry skies.  Delight in the sweet grasses and bright flowers, in the stately trees and glistening sands.  Salute the wide oceans, the jungles, the soaring rocky peaks. Revel over the bounteousness of life, over its endless variety and unfailing strength.

Make merry for the giggles of children and the smiles of the old women and men, for the love that dances, in all its colors,  from heart to heart to heart.

For the endless song that sings the Great Yes,  reverberate in boundless celebration and be glad.

Stark.  That was the word that floated into my mind as I stepped from the warmth of my car into the frozen landscape of the riverside park.

Ice flows jammed the river.  A sharp wind worked to open little patches of blue between the racing, heavy clouds.

The last time I was here, the place was lush with autumn flowers, gold and crimson leaves.  Now it was nothing but a field of days-old snow, dotted with bare trees and patches of dried, bleached grasses.

I walked along the hill above the river for half an hour or so snapping photos in the quickly dwindling light.  Then, as I headed back, the little cherry near the base of the bridge caught my eye.  That it holds it fruit through the winter strikes me as a sign that the Grand Intelligence behind it all indeed takes note even of the needs of sparrows, randomly scattering here and there little morsels of delight.

I had shot several frames of cherries silhouetted against the snow and the sky, when suddenly I spotted a large glittery snowflake that someone had carefully tied to a branch just above my head.

I stared at it in wonderment.  Who would have thought of such a thing!  What would have motivated someone to bring a single ornament to this vast park to decorate one obscure little tree?  Was it a gesture of commemoration?  A celebration of winter’s arrival?  Maybe, I thought, it was simply the donor’s own random act of spontaneous delight, meant to treat the souls of any who happened upon it.

It glimmered in my thoughts long after I left the park, piquing my curiosity with all the questions that would forever go unanswered.  Whatever prompted it, finding it was the highlight of my wintry stroll, and I’m smiling still, just remembering how it sparkled in the day’s last light.

With the year’s work behind them, it was almost time to rest.  But first, the trees would pause for one final ritual, the Grand Celebration and Singing of Praise.

At precisely high noon, the lofty sycamore would dip her stately branches, signaling the commencement of the song.  The pines would begin it, and then the sycamore would queue the birches to the east, and the maples on the slope, and the beeches and the ashes and the oaks.  And soon the whole forest would be jubilant with their song as it built, layer after layer, to its glorious crescendo.

They would sing praise to the sky and praise to the soil, and praises to the rain and to the sun.  They praised their reaching up and their reaching down and the gift of another year of growing.

They sang praise for their ancestors and praise for their children and praise for their own perfect place in the circles of time.   They sang for all the forces that bring life into being and that hold all things, so tenderly, in balance.

Had you been in the forest that day, you would not have heard it, for the song of the trees is not audible to human ears.  But you may well have sensed it in your soul, or felt the thrill of a magnificent vibration rippling up your spine.

For when the trees sing their autumn praise in celebration, the very earth quakes with joy and the heavens themselves open to receive their song.

And when it is finished, a great stillness fills the air, and the trees, fulfilled, take their rest.

Even though they were still very warm, September’s days grew shorter.  The glow from the moon and the starlight played longer in the trees’ branches.  And as it did, it whispered to the trees that the time of gathering had come.

The topmost leaves, being nearer the sky, heard the whisper most clearly, and they quickly changed to their autumn hues in excited anticipation of what was to come.

The gathering was a graduation of sorts, a festival of celebration for the fine work they had achieved.  Since early spring, when they first opened to the light, the leaves had been making food for their mother trees from the sunlight and the air.  They fed the insects, too, who then fed the birds that came to play in the trees’ branches.  They had shaded the earth below, keeping it moist and alive, and crooned soft melodies to the children and lovers who lingered under the trees’ limbs.

Now it was time for the trees to rest and the leaves would put on their colors and fly to the earth below.  There, nestled at the roots of the mother trees, they would give their bodies as blankets so the trees would rest comfortably and well, and they would sink into the soft soil, becoming one with it, and feed the trees from below.  It was a great privilege and honor.  And they had been preparing for it the whole time they danced in the summer’s long sun.

Now the moment was here when they could begin their grand descent.  They filled themselves with light until they could no more, until they were practically made of light.  And they sang and sang to the earth and the sky in joy and celebration.

We who stood below saw them shimmering in the sun and heard their song.  And our hearts were moved by their beauty and filled with happiness.

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The purpose of life is the celebration of it.

Live!
Laugh!
Love!

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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.

Here comes happiness again, dressed in its celebration suit, riding on the morning rays.  It dances into you with every respiration, hurling protons willy-nilly, splashing in the liquid of your cells, tumbling through your tunnels and networks all giddy and smooth.  It pushes open your eyes.

Stroking you with its neon fingers, it tickles at your notion that it’s just an ordinary day.  “If only you knew!” it breathes into your ear.  It stares at your face from the mirror, melting at the sight of you and laughing in your hair.

It’s strewn the hours with miracles, custom made.  “Look for them,” it whispers.  Everything you need.  All the answers, all the signs, every step choreographed to lead you where you need to go.  “Watch,” it murmurs; “Listen.”

Something that tastes like a promise licks against your tongue and turns up the corners of your mouth.  You feel oddly lucky for no reason you can name.  You square your shoulders and breathe, deciding it’s going to be a good day.

And quietly, somewhere deep inside you, happiness hums a love song.  Just for you.  Just for you.

So the Great Divine One whispered in Mother Nature’s ear, “Give them something to make them glad.”  And that’s why there are daisies.

They weren’t her only response to his wish, of course.  Bountiful creature that she is, Mother lavishly scattered the earth with billions of tokens of joy.  Starfish, pandas, rainbows, snowflakes.  The list is goes on and on.

And then she built into us the wondrous capacity to take delight in them and to choose our personal favorites.

The Great One was, as always, exceptionally pleased with her efforts.  In celebration of them, he sent an edict to the Cosmic Coincidence Control Center ordering them to strew our paths with them at frequent intervals.

Then, when we come across them~when we see or touch or taste or smell or hear one of our favorite things~we can know that Something out there loves us and wants us to be glad.

“May your thoughts be as glad as the shamrocks;
May your heart be as light as a song;
May each day bring you bright, happy hours
That stay with you all the year long.”
~Irish Blessing

Gladness tastes like satisfaction and pride.  It feels a reward, like a relief, like a heart filled with gratitude and joy.

Children know it, and baby animals at play.  And fathers who see their children achieve, and mothers whose efforts are met with heartfelt thanks.  It blesses the reunion of friends and accompanies good meals.  It travels on sunshine and sings through bright flowers, celebrating the sheer joy of being.

It bursts suddenly like applause from the heart.  And as quickly as it comes, it goes.  But oh, how thick and warm its aftertaste, how lingering its glow!

Wrap your day in ribbons of gladness.  Stitch it through your hours.  Sprinkle it over your mornings.  Spread it on your toast.  And when the day’s hours have gone, let it tuck you into your dreams at night, gleaming in your heart the way stars gently shimmer in the dawn.