High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘Inspiration’

Not all universe creatures can detect the wondrous music of the spheres.  Some worlds are too dense, you see, for the delicate mechanisms that receive its sounds.

And so, long, long ago, the Celestial Artisans created a way to downstep the melodies for the benefit of the spirits who were embodied on the heavier worlds.  No one, after all, should be deprived of their inspiration and beauty.

Thus, the School of Sound Designers came to be, and they carried semblances of music to the outer worlds.

But then the Artisans discovered that on some worlds, and even within any given species, some creatures were more attuned to sight than to sound.

“What if,” one of them asked, “we could translate the music into some kind of pattern they could see?”  It was a brilliant idea and the master Artisans immediately set about developing it.

When a method was perfected (And that is a whole story in itself!), they took it to the Ministry of Planetary Graces for approval and adoption.  The Ministers marveled at the possibility of entire worlds swept with visual rhythms and harmonies.  They delighted at the prospect of multi-colored birds and fishes and flowers in the fields.  And they were moved to awe by the grandeur of sunrises and sunsets, by the hues the sea could display and the sands of the deserts.

Not only did the Ministers approve the idea for immediate adoption, they awarded top honors to the Celestial Artisans for inventing color and bringing it to the outer worlds.

One day, if you so choose, you can view the entire story in the archives of the cosmic library.

But for now, I thought you might like to know that when you are invigorated by a dashing flash of red, or comforted by a blanket of blue, when your spirit is moved by the magnificence of a painted desert, or sea, or sky, the colors were put there just for you, for your inspiration and joy.

“Football?”  I said.  “That’s the big, pointy one, isn’t it?”

Normally the fact that I’m severely sports challenged isn’t a problem.  But given that I live smack dab in the middle of what folks here proudly call “Steelers Country,” on Super Bowl Weekend, I have to work hard to play the part of a fan.  It’s either that or face exile.

So I wore my black slacks and yellow sweater to work today.  It got me by.

My coworkers wore Steelers jerseys and caps and earrings and pins and socks.  Across the river, at the hospital’s maternity department, they even wrapped the newborns in Steelers’ “terrible towels.”  (I don’t know why they call them that; I’m too embarrassed to ask.)

All the clerks at the grocery store were dressed in Steelers garb, too.  Gold mums tied with black and gold ribbons were on display, and bags of black and gold nacho chips, and Steelers cupcakes and cookies and pizzas, and plenty more of those towels.

People are pumped; that’s for sure.  It’s a party weekend big time.  And here in the middle of a long, cold winter, I’m happy to see it.  I’m glad sports fans have champions and heroes to cheer.  I’m glad they have an excuse to focus on fun, to enjoy the color and spectacle of it all.  I’m glad for the display of grit and discipline that goes into reaching the top of your game, and for the wit and daring, the teamwork and coordination, the dexterity and skill that goes into playing it.

Those aren’t things we get to see just any day, all in one place, in the spotlight.  And we need them.  Even if we’re only paying attention to who’s winning and who’s losing and to all the goodies on the buffet, the stuff that makes it grand is right there in our faces, and it sinks into us and feeds our souls.

When he learned that he had bone cancer, Mike told me, he had fallen into a long spell of despair.  Life was over.  Close the book.  The future had been erased for him with the mere pronouncement of the diagnosis.

Then one day, while he was sorting through some things, he came across his old high school year book.  He leafed through its pages, transported back in time to the days when the world was filled with possibilities and dreams.

As he read the little messages that his fellow students had written on the book’s pages, one in particular struck him.  It thanked him for what he had meant to the writer, for the way he had touched her life.  Something about her words made him ask, “What ever became of that Mike—the one so full of spirit?”  And he decided then and there that he wasn’t going down without a fight.

He started working out, running, and even entering marathons.  He’s done several of them since.  And while no cure exists for his cancer, he’s in love with life again and making the most of every day he has left.

Through the magic of the Internet, Mike managed to track me down to tell me his story, and to thank me for what I had written in his yearbook those long, long decades ago.  The words had turned his life around when it most needed turning.  From his past came a few sentences to give him hope.  And from my past came Mike, to give me inspiration.