YOUR HEART'S WISDOM AND MINE

 

I wake to music now because here in North Carolina the window can be cracked.  The Winter Wren is passing through.  The Gold Finch and the Purple Finch--a deep raspberry hue--will stay around for the duration. Warblers too are doing what they do.  It makes the day a symphony.  As I sit here at my computer there's an antiphonal chorus. It's warm enough for an open door.  

It's the rich beginning of a new season.  Glorious abundance lies before us. Whether we are going to make this day a wonderful part of our story is open to us now.  Because each season has a story and every day we are creating it.  It won't be perfect; but it can be good. 

So while I listen to the outdoor choir I like also to tell myself:  be still and listen to your heart.  It has so much to say.  My heart reminds me that prayer is the path to peace.  It reminds me that those I love deserve forgiveness for past hurts, and that forgiveness includes myself.  My heart keeps me fresh, so that I, like the moss, green with the rain. It beats with gratitude for surviving this year so terrible for so many. 

If you listen to your heart what will it tell you? It might whisper that you are deserving, kind, and true; of that your heart is sure.  What else might it say?

Our hearts might promise that, if we want, this is our season to shine. From deep within out across all boundaries. For me, not a glare, but a soft mellow light, full, I hope, of tenderness and purpose.  For someone else a beam, honed in on fairness and justice.  Or a laser, focused on championing a cause.  Or bettering the world for our children.  Or reaching a deserved goal.  

I do believe that wisdom enriches age.  For the creative or the thoughtful, for those not constrained by ego or vanity, for those who give what they can, wisdom follows.  I have learned that my heart and my intuition do not fail me.  They don't make life easy but they do make it true. 

So let's do it.  Let's be still and listen to our hearts, with as much eager anticipation as the morning birds outside our open window.  Why ever would we not?  

Every Day Counts

                 

 

 
 

DESPITE ALL ODDS, WE HAVE WONDERFUL DAYS

I've been finding wisdom everywhere these days.  It seems to seek me out.  Sometimes what we need finds us. Maybe what is finding me will resonate with you as well. 

This is from mid-nineteenth century poet, essayist and philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson.  Perhaps you had to read him in school as I did.  He writes, 

“I have confidence in the laws of morals as of botany. I have planted maize in my field every June for seventeen years and I never knew it come up strychnine. My parsley, beet, turnip, carrot, buck-thorn, chestnut, acorn, are as sure. I believe that justice produces justice, and injustice injustice.” 

An entry from Emerson's Journal (1852)

I love the way he expresses this:  we grow what we sow.  Whether in our gardens or in our hearts.  Or in our national life, we might say as well.  I believe that's right.   That the laws of moral causation are as scientific as the laws of nature. We can trust our life to it.  So if we want to change what we grow we need only change what we sow.  Individually or as a community.  It may be a simplification, but isn't that what the summer protests over the suffocation of George Floyd at the knee of a police officer were trying to accomplish?  

This next thought is from poet Mary Oliver in her little book Upstream.  It seems profound to me, and applicable during this time of pandemic death.  She says, 

"In spiritual work with good luck (or grace) we come to accept life's brevity for ourselves." 

So many of us have been reminded of life's brevity this year.  It is my hope that our spiritual work prepares us for the end when it comes, even though we have done our best to live. That is my wish for the 426,000 souls who have died thus far in America from the coronavirus and the over 2 million world-wide. I remember how attuned my mother was in her last days, continuing to console those around her that we would survive the final beat of her heart.   

Oliver expresses another truth that has come home to those who mourn. 

"In the mystery and the energy of loving, we all view time's shadow upon the beloved.  We do not think of it every day, but we never forget it."

In some ways we spend our lives anticipating the deaths of those who are beloved to us, as they do ours. It is why we are so precious to each other. Because in the wide swath of time everything material and temporal must fail.   

I do not see these thoughts as depressing, merely dark, quiet and gentle.  Each of us has been wounded at some time and place, if not now.  A wound may be secret or not.  It may be held private or shared for solace. But whether our traumas lie in shadow or sunlight, are old or new, our wounded brains still have the capacity to partake in wonder and joy.  Every day we find the good that takes us forward. We know this to be true. Despite all odds, we have wonderful days.  That is our glory, yours and mine.