Tag: gratitude

The Wisdom of Slow

There is a profound blessing in aging: the pause for reflection. As I grow older, I find that I think more slowly, thoughts moving through at their own pace, unfolding, flowering. I often walk that way too, step by step, holding the awareness that I may never pass this way again: this moment, this experience, this perspective. I remind myself not to miss the subtleties, the hidden beauty, the wonder. Truthfully, it feels to me like the wisdom of a lifetime.

There is a great push to rush through life in the 21st century, as if we were running a race or trying to escape a predator. Many of us feel that pressure—violence and hatred at our doors, poverty and loss not far behind. Everything, particularly in the current political climate, has become a game of survival. Every film, TV show, and news story focuses on outrunning an enemy, surviving an apocalyptic situation. Death always threatening. Yet, life on Earth is so much more than this, if we pause and remember.

Sunrise and sunset each day. Seasonal changes. The love of family and friends. Since the beginning of time, these have always been present, just as there have always been fears and uncertainties. We came here to experience it all. This century may be particularly challenging, but this is the soulwork we signed up for. To remain calm and peaceful in the midst of chaos; loving and kind in the midst of conflict. Humans are evolving, slowly, often imperceptibly, but if we remember the long view we can take a slow deep breath and continue.

I keep coming back to slowness. It seems the key to so much. If you and I rush, we lose one another in the process. We forget who we are at the soul level and why we are here ultimately. When I listen to my friends, slowly and carefully, I really hear the voice of their inner being, what they want to express, to me and to the world. If I speak without rushing my thoughts, I express my heart’s essence. Together, we share our common humanity. When I walk slowly through a park or sanctuary, I fully experience all of Nature with each step and each breath. I hear birdsong and see every season’s flowering. This is the wonder of being alive, no matter what else is going on in the world.

As the days and years pass, I feel all of this more acutely. Yes, my soul is eternal, but this particular lifetime is unique, a gift not to be wasted or hurried through to an imaginary finish line. Every single moment holds within it a drop of infinity, the spirit of all that is, which I can only receive if I slow down and breathe it in with gratitude and appreciation. It is then that time falls away, and my soul and my humanity are One.

A Timeless Morning

We can find many entry points to Presence in the course of our lives. Presence: the experience of oneness with all things; timeless awareness; Spirit. It could arise unexpectedly in the midst of crisis or celebration, sound or silence, solitude or community. We each cross the threshold to Presence in our own way, in our own time. Yet, we all reach it at some point, and if we are fortunate, our hearts open wide enough to live there permanently.

For me, Nature is the eternal gateway to Presence in my life. In small glimpses or panoramic views. Green trees and blue skies outside my window. Distant snow-covered mountains seen from an airplane. Or, walking in a nature sanctuary as the seasons change throughout the year. I have often written about Mt. Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, which is my bird’s eye view to the natural world. And I mean that literally: the birds are always part of my walks there. But then, honestly, so is everything else: flowers, trees, ponds, hills, dells, butterfly gardens and native plantings. To me, it’s paradise on Earth. It renews my spirit and feeds my soul.

One morning this past August, I walked through Mt. Auburn’s gates and was immediately immersed in Presence. I could feel a powerful vibrancy of life everywhere I looked. The late summer flowers (hydrangea, Angelica gigas, Joe Pye weed, phlox, black-eyed susan) blooming in the Asa Gray Garden were stunning, and they were surrounded by dozens of bees dancing through the air, flying from one to another, collecting pollen. Tiger swallowtail and monarch butterflies floated by as well, as did dragonflies. I stood mesmerized by the beauty, the sun making everything around me sparkle with light.

As I walked farther, I heard familiar bird calls in the trees and bushes: catbird, white-breasted nuthatch, downy woodpecker, flicker, robin, cardinal. Bright yellow-and-black goldfinches were fleetingly visible, calling and swooping by like an avian Cirque du Soleil. The chirping and buzzing of crickets and locusts was also part of this symphony of natural sounds, as was the occasional scolding of a squirrel or chipmunk. At one point, I stopped and stood silently listening, eyes closed. When I did so, I realized that for more than an hour, I had been completely One with all I heard and saw, no separation; my mind had stepped aside entirely. Time was absent. It was a glorious feeling of sacred connection and complete alignment with the world around me and within me. Presence. Tears of gratitude and joy filled my eyes.

I have had similar moments before in Nature, but this particular expanse of timeless Presence seemed especially all-encompassing and beyond the realm of language. The closest I can come is to say that my individual “I” had disappeared into the eternal “I Am,” the center of all being in the cosmos. I was one with the music of the spheres as it played out everywhere around me. Later, I realized that from the soul’s view, this is what is occurring all the time for every one of us. 

Robin Blessings

Early one morning this summer, a robin landed on our deck railing and sat looking out at the nearby woods. I stood quietly on the other side of the glass doors and watched her watching. I truly believe that that robin loved what she was seeing as much as I did. Together we wove the world into being—living energy pouring from our eyes and hearts. Her song was her prayer of gratitude; mine is in the words I write here.

Every day it is the birds that welcome me on my morning walks, their songs and calls surrounding me as I look up at the trees and sky. Cardinals, goldfinches, song sparrows, Carolina wrens, blue jays, chickadees, mourning doves. And robins, especially robins. I always stop and listen when I hear one singing in a tree next to the path. Often s/he focuses a bright eye on me and then companionably continues singing. I stand in silence, smiling, and my heart sends out loving appreciation in response. These feelings carry me through the day and sometimes later emerge in what I write in a blog. It is the robin’s blessing that has engendered everything. 

Thus is life born, with birdsong, throughout the year, around the world. In Illinois, where I grew up, the first robins appearing after their migration northward were the harbingers of the coming of spring. We always looked forward to their arrival. Many robins overwinter in Illinois now, as they do here in Massachusetts. Entire flocks of them sometimes fill the trees in late winter or spring. And I still feel a thrill of anticipation when I hear their first spring songs in March or April. A sweet prelude to the arrival of thousands of songbirds migrating north from the tropics annually and creating visible and invisible connections wherever they fly and later nest.

For some reason, known only to the heart and soul, birds always lift my spirits and bring me great joy. In their variety of colors and songs, they fill the world with lightness and a sense of the interrelatedness of all life. Indeed, it was with a robin that I first experienced oneness as I sat quietly in my parents’ backyard. The robin flew past me and landed in the grass close by. We looked at one another, eyes meeting, and suddenly all sense of subject and object vanished, no “I” and “not I.” There was no thought at all. Just Being, Presence, within which the robin and I were one, along with everything else. Unforgettable.

Emily Dickenson likened birds to hope, and other poets throughout the years have chosen birds as metaphors for life’s deepest moments. I can’t imagine my own life without them. Indeed, their presence is an essential part of the fabric of living, in every season of the year. When I first open my eyes in the morning, my ears reach out to hear birdsong. Even before dawn in spring and summer, robins are singing. In the evening as well. Theirs is the musical blessing that begins and ends each day.

Repeat the Joy

These days, in the midst of so much unrest in the world, I find myself drawn to experiences that will lift my spirits. I look for what will bring me joy: a bird, a book, a piece of music. I am currently reading Ann Patchett’s These Precious Days for the third time. It may be my favorite book of all time, certainly my favorite of hers. It consists of essays about her life, and although I love her fiction, her gift for sharing her own personal stories is unsurpassed. In the space of a few pages, I can laugh out loud and be moved to tears. In short, her books give me great joy, and I often find I want to reread them. To repeat the joy. 

Actually, this is how I’ve always lived my life: discovering new sources of joy and happily repeating many. Music and film, for instance. Anne and I often take the train to New York to see Broadway shows: Jelly’s Last Jam, Lion King, Kinky Boots, Cabaret, Fun Home, Wicked, Dear Evan Hansen.* I’ve seen Hamilton 7 times (3 on stage and 4 streaming)! Listening to, and singing along with, the cast albums is yet another relived treat. There are so many artists and songs I love: indie.arie’s “I Am Light,” Jon Batiste’s “Freedom,” k.d. lang’s “Hallelujah”… anything by Andrea Bocelli. On Christmas Eve, we watch the Frank Capra classic It’s a Wonderful Life (while eating chocolate chip cookies!). And at night before bed: reruns of The Great British Baking Show, with diverse, talented participants and mouthwatering “showstopper” creations. The perfect way to fall asleep: smiling. 

Of course, there is much more to life than books, musicals, and chocolate. One particularly vibrant and joyous thread that runs through my life is the rainbow-colored one made up of all the miracles in Nature, especially seasonal changes. The spring songbird migration, with Baltimore orioles weaving intricate hanging nests and wood thrushes singing exquisite flutelike solos. Summer lilies, azalea, and rhododendron blooming in a multitude of colors, and robins greeting the dawn. In autumn, maple and oak leaves turn golden, red, and orange, and the air is crisp and invigorating. December brings the magical first snowfall of winter. For me, the delight of each season in New England is that it comes again the following year, equally beautiful and exciting to witness.

Throughout the year, the familiar faces of friends and family, ever changing and yet so much the same, fill my life with love and caring. This is my greatest joy, celebrated and repeated over and over, both short- and long-distance. So many years of connections. My parents were with me nearly 50 years; many of my friends have also been in my life that long. And Anne, my life partner, and I have shared our lives for more than 42 years (including 22 years with our beloved cat Lily). Blessings beyond words, all that we have lived through together—and more to come.

The wonders that have touched my heart remain with me. To re-experience them is a gift, one I do not take for granted. We have only so much time on this planet, so why not joyfully celebrate every spring bird migration, every perennial that reblooms, every book or song that moves us, and every “I love you” from those dear to us? As our lives pass through us, we are given the opportunity to do that daily. I remind myself of this every morning with a prayer of gratitude for another “precious day” fully lived and appreciated. And then tomorrow… repeat the joy!
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*Saw Just in Time, the new Bobby Darin biomusical with the remarkable Jonathan Groff, last weekend for my birthday—pure joy and definitely repeatable! 

“This Is the Best Day of My Life”

Sometimes bits of life wisdom show up in quite unusual places. I’m not really a fan of so-called “reality” TV shows, but I have to admit that I have always found “Amazing Race” to be compelling to watch. Pairs racing around the world, doing various complicated and strenuous activities and tasks, competing to win $1 million. If nothing else, it’s a study of human behavior under stress. And also, most interesting to me, some very clear illustrations of how people live their lives: driven by a compulsion to always “win” at any cost or filled with the joy of experience itself. This season two young gay men illustrated the latter in a beautiful way. They are best friends, gamers, who love to play Dungeons and Dragons, so when, during a segment in Portugal, one was asked to don knight’s armor as part of his task, he exclaimed with absolute beaming delight: “This is the best day of my life!” So much happiness in just playing. I loved it.

Meanwhile, another contestant constantly complained in anger and disgust whenever he and his wife were not in first place along the way. He seemed extremely unhappy a lot of the time. A life lesson there, in those two responses. True, it’s a contrived “game” in which people are in competition to win an excessive amount of money, but the reactions of the two participants, each so different, gave me pause. I realized anew that I want to live life in celebration and not complaint.

It’s not difficult to find things to complain about these days, whether it’s increasing political conflict, physical or emotional pain, or any one of a number of life difficulties. I know that I have complained about many of them. Yet I don’t want to live my life that way. In my heart and soul, I know that life is a blessing, and there is so much to be thankful for. I need reminders at times, though, and this particular show was one—loud and clear. I thought immediately of Anne’s and my wedding day (June 2014 at Auburn Lake), where friends and family from across the country gathered in love to celebrate with us. At the end of the day, I said to Anne, “Today is the happiest day of my life.” She agreed with all her heart.

It doesn’t have to be a wedding or a TV show to remind you to see the miracles in every moment, no matter what else is going on in the world. God finds all kinds of ways to wake us up at the most unexpected times and center us in appreciation. A passing comment or an act of kindness from a friend or stranger; an out-of-the-ordinary event that moves you to tears of gratitude. For me, it’s often the sights and sounds of Nature, especially birds. There’s always room for more heart expansion, love, and compassion, if we can only remain open and accepting of all of life, however it appears. Every subtle or obvious reminder is a gift. My greatest wish now is to begin each morning remembering: “This is the best day of my life!”