High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘the present’

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.

I’ve been watching the ferns grow.  When they first burst up from the earth, they look like tiny fern embryos, or little living springs of some kind, all curled up in tight little spirals atop their fuzzy stems.  But day after day, they relax more and more into the gentle spring air, their stems straightening as they grow, their leaves opening to the light.  Soon they’re great, proud fans of green, marching up the hill.

I marveled today at the sweet easiness of their unfolding, the effortlessness of their growth.  They just surrender to the life force and keep reaching for the light.

You have to look hard to find one that’s bent out of shape.  It’s not that they don’t have their irritations or causes for concern.  Bugs crawl up their spines and munch on their leaves, after all.  Pine cones bomb them from above.  And at any moment, a deer could run from the woods and crush them beneath its mighty hooves.

It’s just that they don’t spend their beautiful moments anticipating what troubles could befall them.  And so they have no defensive anger, no fear.  They have better things to do.  They can dance with the wind, for instance.  (That’s actually one of their favorite pastimes.)  Or listen to the singing of tree leaves and birds, or visit with the happy yellow flowers that pop up in their midst.

Their attention just stays focused on the ever-changing scene before them.  It proves their faith, supplies their needs, and brings them unending delight.  And so with a sweet easiness, they surrender to its fullness.  And the life force, finding no resistance, flows through them and they prosper and grow.

A week ago, the world was buried in snow.  Tonight, only the deepest patches of it remain. The first shoots of the daffodils burst through the ground today, and tonight’s evening air carried the music of songbirds.

The transition was such a sudden one that it felt a bit surreal to me, as if I had skipped over a couple weeks somehow. I kept blinking in disbelief.  But I gladly embraced the change.

Change, of course, is life’s one constancy.  Each passing moment, each season, is unique; and each unique moment passes.  Some we savor; some we endure.  Some bring lessons; some bring pleasures.

Remembering that each is fleeting helps us keep our awareness anchored in the present as the moments flow by.  Whether they’re rushing or languidly floating past, each is precious.  Each has its own peculiar beauty.  And none more than this one, right here, right now.

I came across a beautiful quote today, from a brilliant Italian architect, engineer and archeologist who lived in the late 1400’s.  His name was Fra Giovanni Giocondo, and his counsel about living in happiness rolls across six centuries to us today.

“I am your friend,” he said, “and my love for you goes deep.  There is nothing I can give you which you have not got.  But there is much, very much, that, while I cannot give it you can take.  No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today.  Take heaven!  No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instant.  Take peace!  The gloom of the world is but a shadow.  Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy.”

“No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today.”  There is no other life but the one unfolding around us right now.  And this life, this moment–if you look into it deeply enough, if you are awake and fully present within it, and sense how far it extends–holds everything:  All beauty; all grace; all goodness; all truth.  Right here, right now, is perfection.

“No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instant.”  All that hides peace is your warring against what is, your wanting it to be otherwise.  The moment you exchange your warring and wanting for acceptance, peace descends.

The faults we perceive, in ourselves, in each other, in the world, truly are but shadows.  And it is we ourselves who cast them, with our storyboard judgments and beliefs.  But once we learn to set aside our criticism and our theories about how things ought to be, and to open our hearts instead, seeing what is before us with clarity and love, the light of joy shines through.

And it’s all right there, within you, within me, within us all, for the taking.  Take heaven.  Take peace.  Take joy.

“Every now and then,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye, “a moment comes along that makes all the rest of them worth it.”   He was talking about the golden moments, the ones where you are so perfectly contented that you feel as if you’re made of warm honey.

It’s that contentment that’s the key.  It’s made of a special kind of satisfaction, where you simply let go of wanting things to be more, or different, or better than they already are.

I’m not talking about resignation, about surrendering your hopes and dreams.  Oh, no.  They’re part of the golden moment.  It enfolds them and paints your desires with a glow.

The contentment of the golden moment comes with sinking into everything that the moment holds and wrapping it in a whisper of yes that flows up from your very soul.    It’s a kind of deep acceptance of the perfection of the present, the whole of it—even those aspects we would normally reject.   It’s a sensing that everything is exactly where it needs to be and moving as it ought, and that it all has purpose and meaning even when it is beyond our understanding.

The happiness of golden moments is gladness for simply being alive.  It’s beyond reason, beyond emotion, beyond mere comfort.  It’s a moment of total ease, so big and broad that it embraces all possibility.  It contains you, and you contain it, and all the definitions that would keep you from your joy simply dissolve in its radiance and wonder.

They come unbidden, these golden moments.  They linger briefly and then they’re gone.  But they are always flowing down the stream, and now and then we catch one, when we’re lucky.  When we’re open.  When we’re willing.  And when we do, we see why the fellow had a twinkle in his eye from tasting one.

I noticed a signature line today in a current events forum I frequent:  “Carpe Diem—it may be the only one you’ve got.”  The writer intended it as a comment on the state of world affairs in which we currently live, as a caution that because our world seems such a powder keg, we had better make the most of today.

I know that in certain circles, it’s popular to suggest that you should avoid the news, given its typically distressing nature, and focus instead on thoughts of a positive bent.  Personally, though, I prefer to know what’s happening around the planet, whether the news is scary or not, and even when it sometimes breaks my heart.

For me, keeping tabs on world events is a matter of satisfying my curiosity about the nature of outer reality.  It’s engagement with the world and part of the stewardship of citizenship.  Even when reading it suggests to me that the whole human race is galloping headlong toward cataclysmic disaster, I’m happier knowing the context in which I live than I would be not knowing.  I figure I can’t be part of the solution unless I have some understanding of the problem, after all.

But getting back to that signature line, “Carpe Diem” – Latin for “seize the day” – has been worthy advice since a poet named Horace first penned the words over 2,000 years ago.  The rest of the sentence that begins with those words is “and put no trust in tomorrow.”

Of course we all do put trust in tomorrow.  Trusting in tomorrow is what lets us dream and hope and plan; it’s what gives meaning to many of the activities we invest ourselves in today.

Nevertheless, tomorrow is an iffy kind of thing, even in the best of times.  And while we’d like to believe it will unfold more or less according to our expectations, that’s never a certainty.  The advice to grab hold of today is recognition of that fact.  “Carpe Diem” is a spirited reminder that today—in fact, this moment—is the only day we know we have.   It’s meant to be grabbed with eager attention and lived with vigor and zest.  And if we squander all its moments living for, or dreading, our tomorrows, we miss the riches it holds for us to enjoy.

It’s a reminder to be aware of those things that bring you happiness and satisfaction, and to take time to savor them in the here and now.  It’s a reminder to smell the roses, to appreciate good company, to feel gratitude for the things that comfort and challenge and strengthen and uplift us.  That’s how we make memories worth reliving, after all, and how we give our lives meaning and flavor and joy.

“Carpe Diem.”  It’s a bit of happiness counsel worth heading.  Put it on a sticky note somewhere that you’ll see it and when you do, take a moment to live its advice.