High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘joy’

All the way from the core of the infinite Yes it comes, up through the swirling pathways of starlight and atoms, curving, bending, pushing outward and outward into the form of these particular petals and leaves.

Here, beneath the autumn sky of this particular planet, on this particular day, it sings itself into expression, tenderly unfolding breath after breath after soft golden breath.

How amazing that this pattern of light, this long dance of the Yes, can leap synapses inside our brains to create in our minds a perception of beauty, in our hearts a response of joy.  How amazing that we can walk by and not even see it at all, and still it breathes its grace and dances golden in the sun.

“One who tries to imbibe the qualities of gods and brings them into practice, they are automatically blessed with radiance and good-fortune.” ~Sam Veda

Theirs, of course, was the mission shared by all flowers—to bring joy and beauty to the world.  But the chrysanthemums were advanced students who had mastered all the elementary skills.  So to them went the honor of closing out the year’s review.

In order to prepare, the mums got to spend the entire summer at the elite School of Glories where they were bathed in celestial symphonies and admitted to exhibits of the finest arts of the spheres.  Speakers from the furthermost dimensions came to hold intimate chats with them about the nature of harmony and order, and of the virtues of gentleness and strength.  They learned the subtlest secrets of the colors and to listen to the colors’ songs.  And they drank it all in with great humility and pleasure.

Then one morning, beautiful September appeared, golden and glowing, and said to them, “It is time.”  She led them to the Hall of Mysteries, and one by one they entered, and one by one they drifted down to earth to indwell their forms.

Feast on their loveliness when you see them, these last flowers of autumn, for it is heaven-sent and their radiance is intended for your joy.

Suddenly the hillside is decked with autumn’s wildflowers.   A whole bouquet of colors cascades down its slopes.

They don’t squabble over turf, or wrangle over religion.  They’re not out to champion causes or to win each other’s hearts and minds.  If they have strong beliefs, they keep them to themselves.

The aster doesn’t tell the orchid that there’s only one way to make nectar, or believe that lavender’s superior to orange.  The goldenrod doesn’t insist that the little snowballs spread its tendrils wide or mock its pallor.

Instead, they revel in each other’s unique beauty, each finding in the other a charming complement to her own particular color and form.  They delight to be part of such a wondrous and varied bouquet.

And so they sing their autumn songs, each one in its own voice, with its own tone.  And the chorus rises in perfect harmony and scents the air with their joy.

August was feeling a bit down in the mouth.  Not that anything was wrong really.  It was just that everything seemed so, well, humdrum.

All the other months since spring had been blessed with such beautiful flowers, and here she was, nothing but grasses, a few remaining daisies, a patch of clover here and there.

She knew, of course, that it was silly to compare herself to the other months.  Everyone has their own gifts.

But right now, looking at herself, she thought her own gifts were nothing to write home about.

What was she for, anyway?  All she did was usher out lovely summer and open the door for autumn’s bright display.  The one was fading; the other hadn’t yet begun.  And she was right in the middle.

She sighed and dozed a little, falling into a dream.

In her dream, a great prince formed in the sky and looked down at her, his eyes sparkling with affection and delight.

“Hello, Sweet August,” he said, softly smiling.  “I heard you sighing and doubting your worth.”

“I’m sorry,” August said to the prince.  “I know I should accept myself just as I am and not wish that I were more.”

“Oh, dear August,” said the prince, “you have no idea how precious you are, how necessary and lovely and loved!  You do far more for those around you than you will ever know.”

“But I feel so ordinary,” August confessed, “and so plain.”

“That’s just because you haven’t yet seen your finest gifts unfolding,” the prince said.  “Let me tell you a secret:  Sometimes when things seem their dullest, it’s a signal that something amazing is about to transpire.  Wait patiently, my dear.  The best is yet to come.”

And with that, the prince dissolved back into the afternoon sky.

August woke from her nap with the prince’s words echoing in her thoughts.  She wrapped herself in patience and went about her tasks—shepherding the bees to the clover, helping the Queen Anne’s lace unfurl, ripening the corn.  The work pleased her and she  felt a new glow of contentment as she busied herself with the details and watched the damsel flies flit through the budding goldenrod.

As she fell asleep that evening, the prince’s words drifted across her mind.   “The best is yet to come.”

She wondered what he meant by that.  Little did she know that in a few hours, she would find out.

She woke feeling peaceful and rested.  Stretching herself over the morning, she slowly opened her eyes. Why, her whole world had been transformed! Before her stretched a beautiful golden bouquet, set off by purple wildflowers and cattails, tall and brown.

“Do you see now, my dear, what your work has wrought?” a voice whispered from the morning’s pastel sky.

Laughing with delight, August rolled into the day.  “I see!  I see!  I see!” she sang.  And the goldenrod turned up its color, and the corn grew sweeter in the fields.

From the midst of her prickly world, the thistle sends forth her soft wishes.  “May my children grow in sweet soil,” she whispers.  “May they be nurtured and become strong.”

She dreams of her own days in the sun, of the mornings filled with birdsong, of the soft tickle of bees’ feet as they came to drink her nectar.   “May they know joy,” she croons, releasing the feathery seeds to the breeze.

Hers, of course, are the wishes of parents everywhere.  She sings for us all.  “May they know peace.  May they be free of danger.  May they have children of their own.”

She watches them float away, glistening in the afternoon sun.  “May they know how beautiful they are,” she breathes.  “May they know how deeply they are loved.”

In that beautiful, timeless place where hours run past unheeded, where you’re fully engaged in what needs to be done, and doing it well, life sings.

Some call it work; some call it play.   They’re both the same when you’re there.  You get in your rhythm, find your stride, and nothing exists but the doing.   Hunger disappears, emotion vanishes, context becomes invisible.

All that exists is the doing–skilled, focused, as natural as breathing, and freeing you somehow, buoying you above all distractions.

It’s only afterwards you feel it, only when it’s over.  And then the satisfaction rushes in, and the joy, and you know it’s what you live for.

Be like water, holding onto nothing; in stillness, reflecting the heavens; in motion, responsive to all.

Be clear, possessed of your own nature.  Nurture the living. Support what is adrift and carry it to shore.

Dissolve all barriers.  Flow with ease past all apparent obstacles.

Bubble with laughter; release all sorrow with your tears.  Be warmed by light, and know that even when you are frozen, you hold the light within.

Cascade freely into the depths of the unknown, roaring the Grand Yes as you fall, for everything is an adventure, set forth for your learning and delight.

Move unceasingly toward your Source and sing the songs of joy on your journey.

Be like water.

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The time of billowing clouds has come, when the clover is in blossom and the sweet grass is high.

Beneath the noon sun, the fragrances of summer rise from the earth in a rich perfume and children play in the orchard.

Now, in these long days, let us take some time for leisure.  The planting is done; the earth is growing her harvest.

Let us take some time to be merry and to savor these hours, bright with the goodness of life.  Let’s sit on the porch swing and drink lemonade and hold each other’s hands as if we were young lovers.

Tell me your stories, and I’ll pretend they’re new while I listen, still dazzled by your beauty.

These are the clover days, full or bounty, when the earth is sweet and each moment reeks with good fortune and joy.

For the gloriousness of breath and being, let your hearts erupt with joy!  For thought, and choice, and freedom, raise your hands in praise.

Dance for the depths and heights of feeling, for being moved to laughter and to tears.  Applaud the awe and inspiration, the serenity and hope, the courage and the pride, that move through you in kaleidoscopic flow, giving life texture and meaning.

Stand in ovation over the compassion that flows from your heart, and the tenderness.  Applaud the  satisfaction that follows your labors.  Applaud the hours of rest and leisure that refresh and restore.

Revel over the dawn and the brightness of noon, the sweep of sunset’s hues, the midnight’s starry skies.  Delight in the sweet grasses and bright flowers, in the stately trees and glistening sands.  Salute the wide oceans, the jungles, the soaring rocky peaks. Revel over the bounteousness of life, over its endless variety and unfailing strength.

Make merry for the giggles of children and the smiles of the old women and men, for the love that dances, in all its colors,  from heart to heart to heart.

For the endless song that sings the Great Yes,  reverberate in boundless celebration and be glad.

From the heart of the Great Yes, filled with its unspeakable love, light flows endlessly.  It forms the worlds and all things in them.

The atoms dance in its waves.  The cosmos sails on its splendor.

Invisible, it shows itself through all that it illumines: A summer flower, a smile, eyes that brim with its compassion and joy.  Their radiance is its signature and fulfillment.

And all that is true, and good, and beautiful reflect its perfection and grace.