High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘light’

Shadows fall across paths of everyone—you, me, the lady down the street.   All of us have our hours of darkness, of pain, of loneliness and doubt.

We’re weak then, when the color is cut from our worlds.  We find no solace even in our fondest memories.  And hope only leaves a bitter taste in our mouths.

I understand; I have walked my share of miles through the places where light is gone.  And I can tell you this about shadows: Behind them is the light. And whatever stands between it and you cannot keep it from you forever.

Say to yourself, “This is only a shadow,” and hold a comforting pillow of peace in your arms.  Shadows pass.  And even in the darkness, you are known and infinitely loved.

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With arms open and lifted to the sky, welcome the morning’s long light.

For nine full minutes at seven hundred million miles an hour, it raced to you, just to give you this day, to add its color to the clear sky that you might see its possibilities.

Write what you will on it.  But write with passion, from the core of your heart, with all the joy you can muster.

Spread your wings and sail on the freedom it brings you.  Soar on its updrafts.  Create some of your own.

Take the gift of this new day and sing into it your boldest song.

“One last day,” thought August, preparing to make her final pirouette across time’s stage.   In the beginning, she had been unsure, thinking hers was a minor role in the procession of the seasons.

But now she understood that none of the months danced in vain.  Each had its own special light to give, even she.

She cast her gaze over the field, set now for September’s debut.  She had, she realized, danced summer away until it was but a lingering thought.

She had waltzed its bright greens into olives, and whisked in the cool morning mists.  She had ushered in the goldenrod and turned the thistle to seed.  The late summer berries were bright on their bushes.  Spring’s animal babies were grown and adding warm feathers and fur.  And everywhere, the crickets sang, filling the air with their song.

As she watched the morning’s shadows stretch their blues across the golden field, she bowed to the Sun King.  It was he, after all, who choreographed the dance.  She was both humble and proud to dance it.

And so, as the curtain rose on this, her last act, she leapt into the air, high and bold, and flung sunflowers in his honor, scattering them to all the corners of the field until every darkened place sang of his light.

As she pulled her cocoon around her, the tiny caterpillar had no idea what to expect.   She only knew that she had climbed a thousand stems and feasted on countless green, juicy leaves, and that she was quite ready for a long, unbroken sleep.

Last night, as she lay curled beneath the forest of towering grasses waiting for the dawn, a magnificent winged being appeared in her dreams and, in a voice more beautiful than any she had ever heard, told her it was time to prepare for her transformation.

Her cocoon was soft and welcoming and soon she drifted off into a sea of shifting colors and sweet sounds.

When at last she woke, she discovered that she was in a wholly different body than the one she wore before.  It felt strong, and it longed for sunlight and freedom.  And it was hungry, too.   She moved her new legs and pushed her way through a crack in the wall of her cocoon.

At first, she was dazed by the light.  It was far brighter than she remembered and filled with dancing colors.  She struggled to balance herself as she lifted her last foot from the cocoon, eager to see more.  But she could barely move.  A layer of wet, golden fabric of some sort was attached to her back and weighing her down.  She would, she decided, rest for a bit and get her bearings.

The morning sun felt warm and welcoming, and she gazed in wonder at the glistening world into which she had emerged.  Slowly the moisture dried from the fixtures on her back, and she discovered to her amazement that they were, in fact, wings.   She felt her life force pumping into them, spreading them wide.  And when she followed the urge to move them, she suddenly found herself airborne and flitting above the jeweled sea below her.

She somersaulted in the morning air, darting among the goldenrod and grasses, rising higher and higher, then darting down into the billowing ocean of grains and buds below.

Finally, after she had flown for several minutes, a spot of purple caught her eye.  “Why, that must be breakfast!” she said, feeling drawn to its royal hues.   And as she alighted on its feathery petals, she saw its pools of sweet nectar gleaming in the sun.

She hardly knew which was more beautiful, the taste of the nectar or the ornate design of the flower’s buds.  She only knew that this jeweled new world was heaven and that she was exceedingly blessed.

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The sun takes it time now, rising over the eastern hills that border the creek.

Everything has been awake for hours before its first rays tumble over the slopes.  The joepyweed and sunflowers are opened.  Upstream a fisherman is already casting for trout on the banks of the lake.

Even most of the mist is gone from the creek’s surface before the bright streams of light finally arrive.  But oh!  When they do, it’s as if all that’s happened so far was simply a preparation, the players finding their spots on the stage before the curtain’s rise.

What was merely awake is now fully alive and singing the freshness of the morning.

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It didn’t matter to her that passersby might see her as one tiny spot of yellow on the hillside among thousands.  In fact, it didn’t matter whether anyone noticed her at all.

She gave no thought to fame.  She happily left that for the grand roses in the garden with their fragrant velvety petals.

Everyone, she knew, had a special purpose.  Hers was to brighten the hillside and to feed the darling bees.  It was, she thought, a splendid life.

She had no idea how beautiful she was.  To her, everything was beautiful.  She spent no time comparing one thing to another; she loved it all.

And so she lived her little life, a lovely jewel on the hill, feeding the bees, dancing in the breeze, shining her radiant light.

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Few places are totally barren or wholly devoid of hope.  Life pushes itself through the smallest cracks, takes root in the most unlikely places.

Eventually, the longest winter gives way to spring.  The darkness gives way to light.

Be at peace.

You, who are not made of rock, are filled with more possibilities than you know and have eternity in which to fulfill them.

Keep faith alive in your heart; hold fast to your aspirations.  Regardless of appearances or circumstances, life will make a way.

Love pushes itself through the narrowest openings.  In the rockiest places, it spreads its boundless grace.

The morning’s flowers were delicious, of course.   They were tiny and intense and the colors of jewels.  The hummingbird flitted among them, tasting their deep blues.  They were probably highly nutritious, he thought.  But he wanted something more.

He was far too courteous to complain, and he certainly didn’t mean to be ungrateful.  But privately he had to admit that he had a hankering for something more, for something that tasted like sunrise.

The more he tried to define it for himself, the more his craving grew.  It would be light, he thought, letting his imagination play.  And sweet pastel hues would radiate up from its rose and gold center.  It would be broad and deep, simple and smooth, and the morning’s rain would cling to its petals.  And its pollen would be so plentiful and rich that he could linger in the blossom’s center until he had taken his fill.

He laughed at himself when he realized he had been so enraptured by his daydream that he hadn’t tasted a thing for the last ten or so minutes.  He gave thanks for the delightful dream and turned his attention back to the present, glad for all that was there.

Then, just as he was about to leave for the meadow a few acres to the east, he spotted it: the flower of his dreams, exactly as he had imagined her, only even more beautiful somehow.

It was true, he thought.  What they told him about imagining the object of your desire with fervor and clarity was true.

He darted over to the pastel blossom, fairly quivering with anticipation as he flew.  Even from a few feet away, he could detect her sweet, fresh fragrance.  It was light and pure and he almost felt intoxicated breathing it in.

At last he reached her center.  It was a golden and glowing as the sun.  And when he took in her nectar, it tasted exactly like sunrise.

He had no idea what would happen next.  (But then none of us does.  And that, of course, is what makes it so exciting.)  In fact, he never even thought about it.  For him, “next” might as well have been a thousand years away.

Far too much was happening for him to even care what the next hour might bring. Whole symphonies were playing inside him.  His veins throbbed with the pulse of thick and luscious juices.  Cells were being born by the thousands.  New structures were taking shape.  And all of it was following some grand, invisible plan.

His skin felt the rush of passing air, now cool, now warm, and his pores opened to drink in its sweet moisture and its powerful waves of light.  It carried fragrances and music to him and stroked the tiny hairs on his surface as it danced by.

He was simply heady with the joy of it all, even more so because the same spectacular experience seemed to be happening for every other living thing as well.  He could hear his neighbors’ sighs of bliss rising in the night and their laughter greeting the mornings.  Life!  How grand!  How stunningly, amazingly grand.

It wasn’t that she was immune to life’s challenges.   Why, what with the late snow and the powerful winds that had swept past, just opening her petals had been a major task, requiring every bit of focus and energy that she had.

She had watched as some her neighboring buds succumbed to the cold or were ripped from their stems just as they were about to open, and she had felt grief over losing their companionship, and sorrow for their unfulfilled potential.

Today’s wonderful warmth had already brought the insects.  She could feel their tiny feet tip-tapping around on the back of her petals.  Soon, bigger, hungrier ones would come and begin to gnaw on them.

No, she was quite aware how fragile life is and how difficult and dark some of its passages could be.

But even though she was still quite young, she had already learned a great secret.  If she dwelt in the memories of the dark times, they eclipsed the beauty she could be enjoying right now.  And if she spent her moments worrying about the difficulties that the next hour or day might bring, she would be blind to this moment’s delights.

And so, she surrendered herself to the present, doing what was before her to do, and deeply feeling all the sensations and emotions that flowed through her. And as each moment passed, she opened herself to the next.

One by one, she met the challenges as they came.  And one by one, she emerged on the other side of the sorrows, more grateful and compassionate because of them.  And what she discovered in living this way, focused in the moment, was that the goodness and beauty of life far outweighed its problems and pain.

And so she collected the moments’ joys, and reveled in them, building a treasury of them as if they were jewels.  And her heart was light and filled with happiness.  And she flourished and was beautiful and strong.