High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘Happiness’

“Peace,” the milkweed murmured to the seeds that had grown within her.  “Gratitude, appreciation, joy.”

It was a secret that she had learned from her own mother: Seeds grow stronger and more beautifully when they’re nurtured and sent forth with love.

“Enthusiasm, faith, delight,” she chanted.

She felt the morning sun warming them.  She wrapped each one in her pride and in her fervent wishes for its happiness.  The moment for their departure, she knew,  was near.

“Have courage, wisdom, and kindness, my children,” she whispered.  “Playfulness, service, learning, hope.”

She saw the distant treetops dancing in the breeze and laughed quietly at the way the little seeds were wiggling in excitement.

“Serenity, happiness, and health, my darlings,” she sang, as the breeze danced in and carried them away.  “Have fun, sweet ones,” she called as they drifted into the sunlight.  “Always, always, I love you.”

She lay in a field all fresh and green that stretched to the far horizon, watching clouds paint scenes of sailing ships and roly-poly bears.  Lipizzaner stallions led a parade and grew wings and became pearly dragons.  And overhead the tree branches swayed and a thousand white doves turned into flowers whose petals drifted down on the breeze.

Down, down, down they fell, light as angel’s wings.  She floated somehow up to meet them and some turned into whispers and wrapped themselves around her like ribbons, dancing and trailing behind her as far as she could see.  And she twirled in the air, laughing, and still the white petals fell, each one singing a note of the song.

“Serenity,” one chimed.  “Happiness,” hummed another.   And soon she was surrounded by a symphony of exquisite sounds:  friendship, grace, generosity, joy, harmony, innocence, goodwill.

The petals were cascading down in waves now, singing every beautiful word she had ever heard, and she thought that she could float on forever.

But at last the shower of petals slowed, gently placing her back on the grass as their music faded away.

She opened her eyes, and there before her, three perfect white crocuses bloomed.  “Faith,” chimed one, every so softly.  “Hope,” piped the second.  “Love,” sang the third.  And she tucked their music in her heart and waltzed home, filled with gladness and joy.

Happiness doesn’t come from Out There, you know.  The things you say “make you happy” aren’t its cause.  Oh sure, things Out There can turn you on.  But what they’re turning on is already inside you.  They just amplify the song.

Sunsets do it for me. Nature’s beauty in general.  My family.  My friends. My cat.  A good joke.  Anybody’s smile. A good night’s sleep.  Taking photos.

And just like you, I say they “make me happy.”

But it’s important for us to know that the phrase is a just fluke of our language and not the real truth.  Otherwise we would keep looking for happiness Out There, where it isn’t.
Out There is just the movie screen.  We write the stories that play on it.

And once you discover the real source of happiness—the deep, vibrant, living pool of goodness and beauty and truth within yourself—the stories you project onto the screen brim with joy.

Why, you can even walk through slushy sleet on a thick gray day and see it as raining diamonds.

They were told, of course, before they volunteered for the Earth adventure, that it wouldn’t be easy.   Earth, after all, was an experimental world, far from settled, and subject to great extremes.

It was a place of breathless beauty and exquisite pleasures, to be sure.  But they were balanced by hardships severe enough to test the bravest soul.

The crocuses volunteered eagerly nonetheless.  To hold true to your mission on Earth, to spread your petals and blossom there was to win the gold.

But it wasn’t the gold they were after.  It wasn’t even the thrill of the adventure.  What really and truly motivated them was the opportunity to express the depth of their love for their mission: to spread joy to the farthermost edges of the inhabited universe, to express it even in the wilds of time and space.

In their hearts they knew that was the key: to hold fast to believing, no matter what, in the sanctity of spreading joy.

And so when the snows fell on their freshly opened petals, they folded themselves carefully inward and quietly chanted their creeds of happiness.  When the winds blew and the night brought frost, they turned their thoughts to their mission, and murmured to one another, “I believe; I believe,” until they fell asleep.

Finally, just as their last bit of strength was fading, the sun rose over the rim of the hills.  And at the touch of its very first rays, the little flowers felt hope rippling through them and a delicious, growing warmth.

One by one, they began to open their petals, gingerly at first, and then in sudden bursts of delight.  Before the sun was even half way up its climb, they were standing tall and broad and open, and their laughter spilled across the lawn and into the air.  It rose to the treetops, where it kissed the morning birds and sailed up to the sky in gladness and praise for the Great Yes who had sent them.  And the Great Yes echoed back their gladness, and the Earth was filled with joy.

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.

I was running a little late as I left the house this morning.  But as I was getting in my car, I glanced at the hillside and the light took my breath away.

“The morning of the last snow,” I thought to myself.  “Tonight it will be gone.”  So, late or not, I took time to capture the moment with my camera.

Five hundred and eighty days ago, I started writing this blog and taking daily photos.  Back then, I was asking myself the question, “Why am I so happy now?”  I had no idea where the question would lead me.

But this morning, as I stood in the cold, my heart soaring at the sight of morning sunlight brushing the treetops and laying in pale golden swaths across the last of the snow, I realized that I have a few answers.

And the primary one, the one I most want to share with you is this:  Do that which brings you joy.

Take time to think about the things that give you a sense of satisfaction, that make your life more meaningful, that bring you pleasure.  Then find ways to do the best of them more often—no matter what it takes, no matter how challenging it may be to make room for them.  Let them become a central part of your days.

When you commit yourself to being led by joy, to honoring those things that unlock the happiness within you, you’re expressing more fully who you truly are and living more authentically.

That which brings you joy will lead you more deeply into yourself and bring you rewards you can’t, in the beginning, even imagine.  They’ll release your talents and teach you to thrive.  They’ll connect you more fully to life and enrich your days.  They’ll expand your spirit and lead you wonderful discoveries, within and without.  And your happiness will spill out into the world and make it a more joyful place for us all.

So take some time to think about that which brings you joy, and give yourself to those things.  They will, I promise, give back to you in great measure.

It was just before sunrise on a clear, cold morning and streaks of rose painted the azure sky.   And there, on the window pane, a jeweled forest caught its light.

“Jack Frost was here!” a child-voice inside me exclaimed with glee.  From the time I was a small child, he’s been one of my very favorite winter visitors.

In the course of a few hours, while you’re drifting through dreamland, he etches his crystal treasures on every pane of glass – landscapes, fairy worlds, scenes from under the sea, gardens and feathers and exotic flying birds.  Each one is a miniature masterpiece, a playground for wonder and imagining, sparkling in the morning light.  How magical is that!

Oh, the marvels that appear in our world, gifts of delight intended for our joy.  You do notice, don’t you?  And you do laugh in joy and give thanks?  Oh, good!  I wouldn’t want you to miss the happiness of waking to such wonder.

“Happiness is not a matter of intensity, but of balance, order, rhythm and harmony.” ~ Thomas Merton

The trees shine up from the creek’s surface, their castaway leaves laughing on the ground and floating merrily on the water.  Beneath my feet, they crunch as I walk.  The earth, in the afternoon’s heat, smells of autumn, and crickets sing.

Today is the Autumnal Equinox, when day and night stand in balance.  Here in the woods, it feels holy, as if the earth, poised on the cusp of the new season, is pausing at the end of its long summer sigh before it gathers everything in.

There’s a stillness about things, almost a watchfulness.  I can feel the last of summer settling away.  And in the far distance, I imagine I hear the high whistle of winter winds as they ready themselves for their part in the dance.

All things contain each other.  In every grain, the whole tells its dynamic, ever-evolving story.  The up merges with the down; the inside blends with the out.  And in this moment, this precious instant when the earth balances between seasons, I feel the harmony and order of it all, and it tastes of unending happiness.

Deep, deep, deep within us, beneath the rush, beneath the doubt and uncertainty, under all the questions, happiness flows.  It’s not a thing unto itself; you can’t hold it in your hand.  It’s a quality of being.  In fact, its being’s essence.

Happiness is the fragrance given off by the love at the center of the great Yes.  It’s the music of the eternal dance, the starlight of the infinite sky.  It rides on contentment’s sighs, and on the petals of flowers.  It cavorts in laughter and in great heaps of clouds.  It paints the breath of babies and the wings of birds.  It flows in sunlight and shadows, and glides across the faces of mountains and the surfaces of streams.

Within the human heart, it’s the gloriousness of gratitude, the tenderness of kindnesses given and received.  It’s confidence and pride in achievement.  It’s hope in the darkness and joy in the dawn.

Happiness comforts and lifts, delights and inspires.  It erupts in mirth and frolics in fun.  It creeps into our minds as curiosity and interest and sends us probing into mysteries and miracles galore.  It bubbles up as pleasure and towers up as awe.  And when you dive into its depths it enfolds you in its rapture and fills you with the sound of peace, singing.

“Abundance isn’t something we acquire; it’s something we tune into.” ~Wayne Dyer

“She’s nothing, if not extravagant,” Grandpa said, sipping his lemonade on the porch.  He was gazing at the field that he had spent the day cultivating.

“Who, Grandpa?” Sam said.  He didn’t see anybody out there.  “Who’s extravagant?  And what’s that mean, anyway?”

Grandpa chuckled.  “Oh, I was just thinking,” he said.  “See that tall grass over there by the fence post, gone to seed?  Go pick me a stem of it, Sam.”

When Sam brought it back, Grandpa gently stripped the seeds from it and held them in his open hand.  “Look how many seeds came from that one stem of grass.  It’s a lot, isn’t it?  Now think how many there must be in that whole clump.  If we planted them all in one long row, why they’d probably go from here all the way to Mrs. Radie’s.”

“Maybe all the way to Uncle Jake’s!” Sam said, as Grandpa blew the seeds away.

“That’s what I meant by extravagant,” Grandpa said.  “When Nature creates, she makes plenty.  Seeds, soil, earthworms, little boys, everything.”

“Why does she make so much, Grandpa?”

“She can’t help it.  It’s how she loves us.” Grandpa said.  “It’s her happiness, just filling up all the empty spaces, so when you look there’s always something there.”

“But what about winter?” Sam asked.

“Snowflakes,” Grandpa said, leaning back into his rocker and taking another sip of lemonade.

Sam smiled.  “Extravagant,” he said quietly to himself.  “Extravagant.”