High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘Glad’

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.

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Put your magic glad on, baby.  The world needs your sun.  You just could be the one, you know, who saves somebody’s day–hauling it out of the gloom pool, setting it on its feet again.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

Don’t give me your aw c’mon.  I know your power.  I’ve seen it action with my very own eyes.

Why just last Tuesday, you turned it on that old dude up on 4th and Vine, giving him that sly wink as if you shared some precious secret just between the two of you.

“Hey, Pops,” you said.  And he lit up like a Christmas tree just because you knew he was real.

The streaks of joy go racing by, and our hearts reach out and pluck them. Here’s color. Here’s cheer.  Here’s a win, a birth, a sudden success, an instant of recognition.  Here’s the giggle of a baby, a slice of cake, a tulip, a wave of well-being.

They glint like sunlit ripples on a stream, waking us, taking us from our dreams of monotony.  They bring us back to Here, where everything is fresh and real, to this instant where we are so amazingly alive and glad.

Joy is the dart of Yes, tipped with remembrance, piercing us with its love.

It’s spring!  It’s spring!  It’s finally spring, and the flowers are laughing in joy.

Do what you will, world; happiness will triumph in the end.  The proof is undeniable and unfurling right before our eyes.

And we shall drink in its colors and sing its glad songs.  And the children will splash in its puddles and fly their kites in its winds, and colts and lambs will play in its hills and nibble its fresh, juicy grasses.

And the trees will burst in happiness, painting the world with a hundred shades of green, and there will be blossoms and rainbows, no matter what you do.

And lovers will kiss, and babies will wiggle their bare toes in the sun.  And we shall drink the colors of flowers and be grateful and laughing and glad.

Every millennium, when it opened its door for admissions, the Water School found tens of billions of applicants waiting at its gates.

Of course all the schools of the renowned College of Elementals were popular, but the training at the Water School was known across the universe for its fun.

Before graduation, the trainees got to practice grouping themselves as mists and rivers, as towering clouds, rainbows and whirlpools, as oceans and as rain. They learned how to stand still enough to become ice and snowflakes, and how to dance so fast they lost their boundaries completely and only their thoughts remained until they collected themselves again.

They loved to frolic on the Earth and called its oceans Mother.  They called the heavens Father Sky and were thrilled to rise to his heights.  When they were with Father, they got to fill the whole atmosphere, bending sunlight into the colors of sunset and dawn.  They got to make art as clouds, and to ride down as raindrops from way, way up high.

That was the coolest thing, the falling raindrop ride.  The trees and flowers and animals would look up from earth as they tumbled closer and closer and sing to each other, “Here come the sky-kids!  Here come the sky-kids!”  It was grand.

You never knew where you would land when you were a raindrop or what kind of adventure you would have once you did.  You’d slide down petals and rocks and leaves, slither down stalks or skin or fur, or end up on a tongue.  You might get to join the elementals playing snow-on-the-mountain, or hit a desert and burst right back into the sky.  But sooner or later, you’d find yourself home in your mother’s vast arms, rocking and rocking until Father’s voice would call again, inviting you to come outside and play.

It was a very thorough course of training.  And even though they got to be in the College for ten thousand years, the little elementals never tired of their classes.  When they graduated, they were proud, and glad, and they vowed to send their kids to the Water School someday to study with Mother Ocean and Father Sky.  And you know what?  Many of them did just that.  Wouldn’t you?

Glad is a light that your heart shines when you remember your life is okay.  It’s the sun coming back after the rain, or rolling over the earth’s edge at the start of a brand new day.

It’s as warm and golden as butter melting on French toast, and the taste of it makes you smile and want to tap your toes.

Glad’s not content, though, just to sit there humming.  Oh, it might sneak up on you like a whisper.  But glad’s just itching to shout.  An upturned mouth corner is fine for starters, but you can put money on glad’s pushing it into a full-fledged grin before it’s through with you.

Glad, see, is brimming with exuberance.  It’s got some jovial to it, and a touch of mirth.  And all it wants is to push right through you out into the world, to spread itself around, get the whole place singing hosannas and stomping its feet.

It’s a tough job, given all the gloom it’s gotta shine through.  I say give it a hand.  Get your glad on and, hey, take it to the streets.

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It’s all a matter of just because, this waking into glad.  You can make up any reason you want.  Or none at all.

Because I can.
Because it’s there.
Because I always dreamed I would someday.

Because I like the taste of it.
Because it beats sad hands down.
Because it will drive them crazy.
Because I thought it would look good one me.
Because I like its colors.

Because it’s raining.
Because there’s sun.

Because it seemed like a good thing to do.
Because you love me and I love you.
Just because.

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“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.