I wake up happy this morning. Love it when this happens. I am warm under my comforter. (Perfect name, that—comforter.) Along with happy I feel deliciously lazy, rested. There is sunlight against my bedroom blinds, and shadows of trees getting pushed and shaken by the wind.
It isn’t even a choice this morning. I didn’t have to stop and deliberately, consciously, meaningfully choose happy. Happy just is.
I could be this forever. Right now always.
Peaceful. Settled. Nothing niggling at me. Body and head all comfortable. Heart and spirit peaceful.
I fell into happy this morning, even before I woke up.
Such a gift.
It feels like waking on the first morning of summer vacation. Though my calendar tells me today summer is passed. It is the Fall Equinox, and Yom Kippur, and Mabon. A blessing day today. Balance. Full. Perfect.
I am sitting at my work table now, in my studio. Vince Guaraldi and David Benoit and George Winston playing piano for me, Charlie Brown music. Watching the wind pull and push at the aspens and the firs. The aspens have become gold this past week, brilliant against the blue sky and the dark of the firs. When their leaves fall, we will have Dorothy’s yellow brick roads everywhere through the woods around the house.
It is just past noon. I’m at the beach. Sun, blue sky, a diamond ocean. A perfect breeze. The smell of kelp and sea grass and hot beach stones. At the horizon, three boats at full sail.
Perfection and delicious joy.
There are others here too, sharing this beauty. Someone eating a slow lunch. Another reading. A quiet conversation carrying on the breeze. Two bike riders pausing on the road above the beach, and a bike that squeaks with each turn of the wheels as they leave.
I am an ocean baby, born in July as the summer began. My first beach day at a few weeks old, and every summer since.
I am home here. I feel it in the way my body relaxes and becomes present to all my senses. I feel it, my mind quieting, the river of thoughts slowing, stopping. Rest here, my heart says, be open. And I do, I am.
There are places that open me. Places that are physical or spirit or imagination. That open me to my biggest self, the one that has no lines, boundaries, walls, fences. The self that is connected to all, easily and gracefully, through joy, love, just being
I keep watch for the places in my life that open me. I know in these places my grandest ideas and creations come to me. The sparks that flash into sight, then stay and grow if I let them. They live here, waiting, in these places of connection.
And what is the spark that flashes into view today? Exactly these words I send to me and to you, about the perfect delicious joy of being here. Present, open, connected, and writing.
I’m outside this morning on the back deck. Here in our summer home, writing my summer joy list. All the things that fall into this moment like pearls on a string, in my lap to be played with, loved, enjoyed, relaxed into.
Yes. Relaxing into summer. Mmmmmmmm.
Morning sun, warming me, loving me.
Blue blue sky.
White clouds passing.
Wind in the trees and the grape vines, the kiwis and the lilacs. Shaking the leaves and branches, whispering ‘play with me’ and ‘grow’.
Hummingbird on the clothes line, viewing his world, taking his coffee break at the foxgloves.
Baby crow on the rooftop, demanding, begging, ‘feed me’. He started calling at daybreak. He has been fed several times. He’s still hungry.
Folding chairs unfolded, settled into with blanket and pillow. Feet up, lap full of binder and loose leaf paper for writing. Hand full of neon pink pen with pink ink (shades of Dr. Seuss).
Tigger, from the Winnie-the-Pooh stories, is one of my heroes. This is why. He knows who he is and what he does best.
Tigger bounces. Bouncing’s what tiggers do best. Fun. Play. Creating happiness (and some chaos) with friends and family. Life is to be enjoyed. These are also what Tigger does best.
In one of the stories, Rabbit tries to unbounce Tigger. Not a good idea. When he stops bouncing, everyone else gets sad too. Bouncy Tigger is a necessary part of the family in these stories. He is the joy.
I want to be a tigger. If I could be a character from A. A. Milne’s Pooh stories, I would be Tigger. Not even a pause to think it over.
I want to be a joy tigger. I want to light up the joy in myself and those around me. When I am happiness and joy, I can hold in balance the life things that are not so easy.
A joy tigger. Me. I want to know who I am and what I do best. And then do it the rest of my life. I have a good start at it, here on this page and in this blog.
I am at the lake. Sun, sky, water. Birds that I can’t see sing a chorus. They’re all hiding in the trees. The ice is gone. The open water is cold but the ducks out there don’t seem to mind. Two Canada geese are causing a ruckus. Splashing, then flying, honking out the noisiest Spring courtship I have ever heard.
There was frost this morning and the thermometer read zero. That was three hours ago, the sun still rising. Now the sun is full high in the sky and there is heat where its light lays across my legs. This is balm to my heart. Open. Feeling.
This is being present. This is resting in what is all around me, here, now. My body relaxes. Nothing to fuss over. Nothing to be ready for. Just open. Listening.
I have coffee beside me. Decaf with cream. Caffeine and I don’t always get along. I sip it. Warm now rather than hot. The air is cooling it. Doesn’t matter. I like cold coffee with cream as well.
This morning is a gift. Mist on the hills at the far end of the lake. A faint layer of cloud above me. No wind. The water is glass except where the ducks have passed by. The geese are silent now, perhaps their courtship complete. I wish them well.
This is peace and perfection. Right here, right now, all of me is present to this moment, my life. Head, body, heart, spirit. Whole. One. There is no other place to be, no other thing to do except be here now, present, writing.
I was re-listening to a webcast of THEO and Sheila and Marcus Gillette, about radical self-love. I first discovered THEO on Jennifer McLean’s ‘Healing With The Masters’ series. Their work, and Jennifer’s, helped me heal my fibromyalgia.
This webcast is a call-in radio show. I hear the questions people ask, some questions an exact echo of my own.
I am struck by the contrast between simple and complicated.
A few people who call in get straight to the point and ask their question. Most people don’t. They give a long back story then, finally, ask their question. I recognize that I belong to the back story group. I feel I have to tell what led to my problem or confusion, justify myself, skirt all around the thing I am wanting answered, and then ask my question.
Why do I dance around? Why can’t I just walk straight to the point?
There is something in me that does not like not-having-the-answer-myself. Thus, all the dancing. This way I can show how much I already know and everything I have tried. I can show I’m not stupid or lazy. Except that is not the point. The point is asking for help. It is my ego showing off so that it can be comfortable later saying ‘I don’t know, please help me.’
Better and quicker and more honest to just say, this is my question, please help me find the answer.
The other reason for the dancing? I know the answer already and I don’t like it. Resistance to what I know I need to do or change. So I am hoping someone will give me a different answer that I will like better.
I am making something simple into something complicated. If I make it complicated enough, I might be able to hide my resistance in the tangles.
Except, my path is choosing love. Love means honesty for myself. Accept the truth of the answer I have, or accept the truth that I need help to get to an answer. Go straight to the heart of the matter. Go straight to my heart. Stand in the love I have for myself and see the truth of what I am doing. Then choose through love. There is my answer. It’s not complicated.
Here is an example.
I’ve been trying to make building my blog all complicated. Fretting over how I should begin and what I should choose as my first post. It’s my ego behind all this fretting, chattering at me ‘we have to be impressive, we have to catch people’s attention, we have to sound wise and important…’ My ego talks a lot. She sounds exactly like Lucy in ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’. I am learning to ignore her because much of what she says in not useful. She likes complicated. She thinks complicated equals important.
My heart and spirit go for simple. They always go for the truth. They tell me ‘write about what I am discovering and learning’. Write about what has healed me and what is healing me. Write about knowing and trusting, choosing and creating. Write about love and loving. Write about my heroes, the people whose work is teaching me how to heal.
There it is, the path my heart and spirit lay open for me. I choose simple.