High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘Contentment’

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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When joy dances through you, whistling like a prairie wind, blowing its flute, streaming its colors in the breeze, give thanks, that it may come to you again.

When joy dances through you, sparkling your spirit, fanning your pleasure, sailing you into ease, give thanks, that joy may visit you again.

When joy carries you to a realm of purity and celebration, when it wafts the fragrance of contentment all around you until it melts your heart and sets you free, give thanks.  Give thanks.  Give thanks.

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“Only in quiet waters do things mirror themselves undistorted.  Only in a quiet mind is adequate perception of the world.” ~Hans Margolius

The deeper your contentment, the calmer your mind.  The calmer your mind, the clearer your perception.  The clearer your perception, the more beauty you see.  The more beauty you see, the more ecstasy you feel.

Seek contentment.

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It was one of those late July days when the heat came straight from the sky’s oven, full of steamy humidity and heavy as lead.  Not a leaf was stirring.  Even the hardiest weeds drooped in thirst.

Warnings came on the hour: take care of the very old, the very young.  Watch for signs of heat exhaustion.  Go to a shelter or to the mall if you needed relief.

My 200 year old home is shaded by giant pines and built into the side of wooded hill.  Usually it is much cooler than the summer air outside.  But today even its coolest rooms were uncomfortably hot and damp.

Tink, my normally playful cat, searched for a cool surface, and settling for the dining room table top, stretched out for a day-long nap.  I drank a gallon of iced sun tea as I did my household tasks and ran my fans at full speed.

Finally, just before the sun set with a hard red glare in its white hot sky, a wind came, and with it fast, thick clouds the color of charcoal.  Tink and I walked out to the yard and I stood for awhile drinking it in, watching the trees dance, smelling the fragrance of imminent rain.  Tink took off to chase fireflies.

What a glad relief the rain brought!  What pleasure we find in such simple things!

I sliced a freshly picked tomato and cucumber for an evening treat and watched lightning play in the sky as I ate them, feeling happy, and blessed, and content.

Tomorrow’s sun will bring another scorching day.  But tonight, my neighbors and I will sleep in comfort and peace.

Once, when my friend Holly and I were grocery shopping together, she stopped suddenly in the midst of the produce section, looked around with an expression of awe on her face and with a sweep of her arm said, “Look!  Right here.  Everything we need to live.”

I often think of her comment when I’m shopping.  And happily, my favorite grocery store is arranged so that my shopping begins in the midst of the produce section’s bounty.

Remembering how simple my needs truly are allows me to shop mindfully, to be peacefully content and pleased with the items on my list even as I stroll past the dazzling displays of products and packaging meant to tempt me.  Instead of being pulled by some vague unnamed desire, I’m free to enjoy and marvel at the variety of the store’s offerings—the imported delicacies, the fragrances, the artistry of the packaging, the sheer abundance of it all.

To be aware of the simplicity of your needs is freeing.  It cleanses you from the grasping feeling that you somehow require more and more.  It allows you to feel contentment and ease.  It opens your heart to appreciation for the abundance with which you are surrounded and provides you with a satisfying enjoyment of all that you possess.  It shrinks your assessment of enough and expands your view of plenty.  And because it puts enough so easily into your hands, it kindles your generosity and inspires you to share.

The next time you’re in a grocery store, stop for a moment in the produce section and look around at the miracle of it.  Let it inspire you.  See what happens.

Sometimes happiness rises up and wraps you in a cloud of the most beautiful contentment, where all the ordinary, everyday parts of your life are magic and perfect, just as they are.

The dust on the end tables, the crumbs on the car seat, the creases you see in the mirror, the missing button on your shirt—all of it seems like a movie set, made to make the story look real.  And you love it.

You love who you are, and where you are, and what you do and all your dreams.  You love the context of your life and where you’ve been and all the people who surround you.

You love that you have no idea how we got here or where we’re going or who God is, because the mystery is full of beauty and grace, however the answers unfold.

You love what you have created.  You love your hopes and dreams.  You look at your life as if from outside you and find yourself touched by how poignant it is, by how hard you try, by your imperfections, by your bravery anyway, by all you give and wish for, by the light you contribute, the sorrow you hide, by your wonderful laughter, your amazing talents and skills and strengths, by your all too human limitations.  And it’s all good.

You look at the abundance that surrounds you and marvel.  You feel the beating of your heart, the ceaseless pumping of your lungs, the pulse of life expressing through your body.  You wonder at the miracle of consciousness and self-awareness, of all the gifts that mere humans possess by the very nature of their being, and you’re warmed by it.

Contentment comes, and blesses it all with its aura of perfection, and you overflow with gratitude and joy.

“Every now and then,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye, “a moment comes along that makes all the rest of them worth it.”   He was talking about the golden moments, the ones where you are so perfectly contented that you feel as if you’re made of warm honey.

It’s that contentment that’s the key.  It’s made of a special kind of satisfaction, where you simply let go of wanting things to be more, or different, or better than they already are.

I’m not talking about resignation, about surrendering your hopes and dreams.  Oh, no.  They’re part of the golden moment.  It enfolds them and paints your desires with a glow.

The contentment of the golden moment comes with sinking into everything that the moment holds and wrapping it in a whisper of yes that flows up from your very soul.    It’s a kind of deep acceptance of the perfection of the present, the whole of it—even those aspects we would normally reject.   It’s a sensing that everything is exactly where it needs to be and moving as it ought, and that it all has purpose and meaning even when it is beyond our understanding.

The happiness of golden moments is gladness for simply being alive.  It’s beyond reason, beyond emotion, beyond mere comfort.  It’s a moment of total ease, so big and broad that it embraces all possibility.  It contains you, and you contain it, and all the definitions that would keep you from your joy simply dissolve in its radiance and wonder.

They come unbidden, these golden moments.  They linger briefly and then they’re gone.  But they are always flowing down the stream, and now and then we catch one, when we’re lucky.  When we’re open.  When we’re willing.  And when we do, we see why the fellow had a twinkle in his eye from tasting one.