High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘laughter’

I walked down the street today and the whole world was laughing, for no single reason at all.  Just because.  Just for being, in the bright and the wonder of the fall.

It was waving from the trees and falling from the sky and rolling like wishes on the lawn.

The air was so filled with jubilation, I tell you, that even the cats were whistling.  Some days are like that.

When the glad erupts and the glee pours forth, there’s just nothing else to do but let it roar.  Let it shine on out.  Let it bubble; let it stream; let it tumble, let it twirl; let it soar.

If it makes you want to giggle, if it makes you want to dance, if it makes you want to wiggle on the floor,

If it makes you want to skip, if it makes you want to sing, if it sweeps all your gloom right out the door, so be it, baby!  Some days are like that.

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What an audacious palette you wield! So gaudy, so rich and bold!  Oh, Autumn, the leaves you brush with your colors are simply giddy with joy.

So it’s the end of summer’s days.  So the winter is coming.  Today Autumn is tap-dancing in, flinging her pigments to the winds.

See?  From here below, the leaves are a stained glass window whose picture says laughter’s the music the glad angels play, and each hue is a note in their song.

They’re like semaphores, bright as parrots’ wings, spelling happiness across the sky.

No wonder the children dance down the streets.  No wonder the lovers hold hands.

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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.

The hillside that borders my driveway is peppered with hundreds of orange and yellow jewelweed blossoms, tiny blooms no bigger than my thumbnail.  The bumblebees love them, diving deep into the flowers’ throats until only their fuzzy tails and back legs stick out.

Along with the wild yarrow, goldenrod and Queen Anne’s lace, the jewelweed marks the last of the summer’s floral bouquet.  I think of its blossoms as jewels of joy, and imagine that invisible fairies dance in its dew-sparkled leaves in the morning to the jingle of the little bells that hang suspended in the blossoms’ petals.

The fantasy quickly fades as I pull onto the highway and crawl to work through construction zones, listening to the morning’s news on the radio.  Unemployment up; the markets down.  The usual local mayhem and threats of impending global doom.

An ambulance sits at our clinic’s curb.  Already, I see, the crisis department is shipping the day’s first client off to the inpatient unit at the hospital.

The women at the front desk smile as I walk in the front door, looking like angels.  A vision of the joy jewels flashes through my mind again, as I greet them.  A little clump of nurses is gathered by the case worker’s door, their voices and gentle laughter pouring softly down the carpeted hall.

I climb the stairs to my office, and because it’s such a lovely morning, decide I’ll open my window to let in the birdsong and air.  One of our buses is loading the abused and neglected little kids who attend our county-sponsored summer program.  Must be a field trip day.  The last two in line are wearing orange and yellow.  They giggle as they climb aboard, holding the teachers’ hands.  And I see little jewels of joy.

It’s time for frolicking in the sunshine, for playing shuffleboard with the stars.  In the meadow, lightning bugs are playing hide and seek with the giggling flowers.

It’s time to put on your steppin’ shoes (if you want any shoes at all) and twirl and whirl your cares to the moon.  Now is the season for play.

Come glide on laughter’s rainbow.   Slide into the foam of the enchanted sapphire sea.  Let loose your mirth.  Send it on colored ribbons into the dawn.

Open your door and let your child-self run headlong into puddles of delight, of freedom, of the thick, sweet juice of being.

C’mon!  Let’s make play while the sun shines.  C’mon!

“To a man of pleasure every moment appears to be lost, which partakes not of the vivacity of amusement.” ~Joseph Addison

Now the muse of mirth comes by, wearing a costume of water sparkles and the perfume of fresh air.   She comes to please, to charm, to delight.  So playfully she teases!

She somersaults onto the table top and regales you with her stories.  They coax from you a smile, a laugh, and then she tells you more.  And before you know what’s happened, you are rolling in the aisle.

She tosses the petals of tickled pinks into the crowd and whomever they land on has a special dream:  this one’s team scores the win; that one says, “Checkmate!”; the woman on the right is surrounded by cribs full of giggling babies;  a child plays with kittens and balls of yarn; that one roller skates; another has snagged tickets for front row seats; dozens dance.

And when the dream is dispelled, each returns to his or her reality refreshed and renewed.  And the muse smiles softly as she tiptoes out the door, her mission accomplished.

Let’s go rolling into childhood where all the world’s at play and giggles reign.  I’ll be a princess and you can be a rock star and we’ll eat ice cream on the moon for breakfast.  And all the animals from the zoo will come, even the zebras and giraffes, on a special rocket ship that sails on rainbow power and leaves glitter in its wake.

And after lunch we can sail our great galleon to a glistening shore on the edge of the Milky Way and build sandcastles that are real, and the animals will have a special garden.

Ballerinas and clowns can stroll through the grounds, picking giant flowers and turning cartwheels on the lawn.  Then it’s hide and seek with the jesters and mimes, and tea sandwiches under the wishing tree where all the toys and teddy bears have come alive and are holding a party.

I’ll stand in the tower in a flowing white gown and blow iridescent joy bubbles over the scene.  And you can play your guitar and watch its notes paint colors on the sky, and from all the distant planets will come a roar of applause, just for you and your song.

Then, because there is no bedtime, we can visit all the rooms in our enchanted castle and watch the dreams that rise from the children of the earth come true, but only the good ones.  And we can marvel at the games that earth’s grownups play and laugh because they think they’re so real.

Yes, let’s go rolling into childhood, where laughter is the currency and freedom reigns. There will be time enough for seriousness on Tuesday.

As luck would have it, my floor of the building was almost deserted today.  Meetings, both off-site and on, pulled almost everyone away.

Today, of course, was the day I decided to give out the Best Laugh award.  It was a game I play with myself where, after listening to laughter throughout the day, I would pick the best one over supper.

Interestingly – and almost as if they were summoned by my intention to find amusement in the day – the only two coworkers who stopped by my office came with the express purpose of telling me charming stories about cute situations that happened on their floors.

A third coworker sent me an email about an episode of an old TV game show where a one-liner evoked laughter so contagious that it took half the show just to calm the audience back down.   I chuckled,  imagining it.  I think I may have seen that show.

As I worked, I found myself recalling the laughs of people I have loved in my life.  My dad’s laugh was a treasure, and my sons’, too.  I could hear them in my mind. But did remembered laughter count for my game?  Hmmmm.  I wasn’t sure.

Until late in the afternoon, the only actual laugh I heard was a sort of horse-like snort.  And I wasn’t going to give that one an award if it was the only one I heard all day.

Finally, when the day warmed up enough, I opened my office window.  Along with the street sounds, a soft breeze carried in the laughter of children playing in a nearby yard.  It was as free and bright as the sunshine, and I sent them an imaginary blue ribbon right then and there.  Nothing that I would hear the rest of the day, I was sure, could surpass it.  Its sweetness and purity claimed the gentle victory and won the prize.

On my way home, I stopped to see how the creek looked after our two days of rain.  It was beautiful, or course, tumbling merrily over the rocks in a singing, bubbling cascade of foamy water.  Overhead, birds called from the trees and a squirrel chattered.  The breeze rustled through the newly opened leaves.  As I listened to the music of it all, it sounded like the laughter of springtime.  “You get a prize, too,” I whispered to it.  “Oh yes, you get a prize.”

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.For all moms everywhere, the true ones with strong wills and melting hearts, the ones who hold their babies close and let grown babies go, the ones who give up youth, leisure and sleep in the name of nurturing and guiding, the ones who trust instinct and some merciful god to whisper how, to show the way . . .

For their bravery and sacrifice, for their inventiveness and making do, for the wisdom they share, and the songs they sing, for all the long nights and sparkling mornings . . .

For their laughter and beauty, their playfulness and patience, their firm hands and gentle touch, for the traditions they pass on and the stories they tell, and most of all, for their light and endless unconditional love . . .

Our deepest gratitude, and golden flowers.

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Once happiness gets cookin’, it’s hard to contain.  It wriggles and it jiggles ‘til it sets itself free.

It somersaults down your spine, and roller skates off your tongue, and plays tic-tac-toe with your eyeballs.

It takes your years and rolls ‘em up in a ball and tosses them so far away you forget you ever had them.

Before you know it, you’re tossing grins at the doorman and the secretary, and saying “Looking Good!” to perfect strangers on the street.

It gets into your ankles and makes you want to dance.  It bubbles up into your throat and makes you sing right out loud, even if it’s raining.

It oozes from your mouth in compliments, jokes and laughter.  Suddenly you find yourself craving bright colors and wanting to strew them around.

It puffs up your lungs and lets you know you’re a winner and a star, and so is everybody else, even when they don’t know it.

And your head reels in giddiness at the fabulous amusement park of life, and you love it and want it never to end and know, somehow, that it doesn’t, even though we pretend.