High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘Hope’

(For Sheri)

The snow had hardly melted when the dandelions appeared, breathing in the sun’s dreams, storing the gold of them in their soft petals.

Deep within themselves, the dandelions distilled the sun dreams, refining them until they yielded the essence of life itself, with all its potential and hope and power.

Then, when night fell, the dandelions breathed in the dreams of the moon and of the stars and distilled those, too.  And they mixed their essence  with the essence of the sun dreams and began to spin the blend, whirling it with great engines of joy, until perfect, translucent threads formed.

Finally, with the secret magic that only dandelions know, they fashioned the threads into wish kites for the children of the earth.

And that is why, when you send the kites sailing, blown on your breath and filled with heart hope of your own, it is quite certain that your wishes will come true.

Oh, you flighty, capricious one, you Mistress of Moods, what a show you put on!  First you were warm as winter wool, flashing your flirtatious smile.  Then your face would be covered with tears and as cold as a polar bear’s nose.

You whirled through our days like a jester, tossing your flowers and frost.  We never knew, from blink to blink, what you’d pull from your harlequin bags.

But you made us laugh.  You gave us hope.  And you broke winter’s long, dark spell.

Now you leave us, bowing behind a curtain of green, trailing songbirds and tulips.

And we rise and applaud you.   Good show, Mistress March.  Good show.

Sometimes hope speaks in a whisper:  The slight softening of the treetops as buds swell, despite the snow, a waver of uncertainty as someone says no, a quick sparkle of light in a mother’s eyes.

Hope takes any opening it can. It’s undaunting in its quest to reach your heart.  Realize that.  And when it comes to you, welcome it in gladness and give it space to grow.

Hear its wisdom and its promise:  Time has a way of doing things in the right order.  There is always a way.

They knew what they were in for.  The little crocuses learned about earth weather long before they took on form.

But that of course was mere theory.   And this snow was very real.

They wrapped their petals tight, giggling.  Little shivers of delight over their good fortune ran all the way down their stems.

Not every crocus got to face the snow.  The challenge, they knew, was immense.   They would have to hold fast to their vision and mission, to deny every dark shred of doubt.

No one thought it would be easy or that success was guaranteed.  But the adventure was its own reward.  And they would fly their hope flags to the end.

Ah!  It’s the harbingers of hope, burst through to the light, ready to unfurl their flags.  Here is spring’s first guard, singing its joy in the rain.

Flower dreams swirl in my head: the blossoms are waking!

It just goes to show you that even the gentle can be brave.  Even the most delicate can persevere through the darkness.  Holding firmly to their dreams, trusting the song of their souls, they endured the trials, bearing them with patience and faith.

That’s all it takes.  And in the end, they break through, gloriously unfolding, their beauty delighting us all.

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From distant shores, dreams beckon, islands of hope, half hidden by the mists of future time.

Their siren call echoes through our sleep and roots itself in our bones.  “Come,” they sing, “Come.”

When we wake, they drift up in unnamed desires, pulling at our wanting for something, oh, larger somehow, and deeper.

And sometimes, when our thoughts are at ease and our hearts are open, we catch a glimpse of their towering possibilities and they startle us with their light.

Some shrink back at moments like these, feeling themselves made small by the grandeur.  But the bold, oh the beautiful bold, leap up, shouting, Eureka!” and set sail.

Sometimes a certain bend of light makes all the difference.  Falling just so, it pierces jaded hearts.  Eyes that were glazed see again; minds that were closed open to the truth.

The angels never stop painting the world with their hope.  Everyone can be saved from isolation.  A whispered word can lead toward home.  A sliver of song can mend a shattered soul.

The petal of a rose, a feather on the wind, a waft of a sweet, remembered fragrance—anything will do.   Hope takes endless forms.

Sometimes,  a certain bend of light makes all the difference.

It was a particularly clear night and full of magic.   In the heavens, high above the treetops, the creatures of the frost world could see the pearly glow of the legendary ring of moons that surrounded their world.

Mothers and fathers woke children from their beds and led them outside to see the sight, for it appeared only rarely and this might be their only chance.  “Remember this,” the parents would whisper.  “Remember this always.”

“What is it?” the awe-struck children would ask.

“We do not know,” the parents would answer.  “Some say it is the home of the gods who call us into being and bless us with their love.  Those who are lucky enough to glimpse its beauty are said to carry hope in their hearts all their lives, even in times of great darkness.”

And the children held their parents hands and leaned against their warm bodies, watching until morning came.  And although most of them would never see the ring of moons again, their hearts were filled forever with its glowing, pearly light.

“Every now and then,” she said, gazing out the window, “a moment comes along that makes all the rest of them worth it.”

The day had been gray, that heavy, relentless gray that numbs your mind.  Now and then raindrops splattered the windshield as we drove along.  The rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers only added to the monotony and we wondered if would ever end.

It was like those seasons of depression you go through sometimes, colorless and dull.

But then, just as afternoon was turning into evening, the sun broke through and the hills outside the windows gleamed with a brilliant gold.

It would fade as quickly as it appeared.  But for this one fleeting moment, we were revived.  Its beauty rescued us from the gloom and reminded us that beyond the clouds, the light endlessly shines, and if you just keep going, it will break through.

“Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it!  ~Goethe

The New Year begins!  Both the curtain and the bar are raised.  And we come leaping into this gift of new hours, fresh dreams in hand, full of hope and daring.

Let our faith be firm.  Let us bring to this New Year the best in us: Hearts brave enough to be vulnerable, lips willing to speak our truth, hands eager to reach out in kindness, souls ready to serve.

Let us be alert for goodness and beauty and find them in every hour.  Let us fly our dreams like flags before us.  Let us reach for the stars and climb whatever mountains may appear.  Let us not take no for an answer, but cling instead to our passion for the endless possibilities.

And may the Illimitable Yes that is Love and Peace and Joy sing its song through us all our days and fill us with its grace.