This has never happened to me before but last week a chestnut-backed chickadee pair flew to my living room window. One of them chirped at the sill as if it was talking to me directly. I exclaimed in delight at this tiny bird watching me as I watched it. The encounter reminded me of the power of joy. To that end, I want to reshare a post from a solid 10 years ago.
A few weeks ago, I listened to a radio show by Radleigh Valentine and he said on average people laugh 15 times a day. Fifteen times! And then he asked, “Do you remember if you laughed at all yesterday?” He pointed out it’s easy to remember the unpleasant things – the times we’re sad or scared or anxious – but the joyful times, the laughing times, are easier to forget. He encouraged his listeners to take note of when they laugh, to see if it adds up to 15 times. And then he said something really interesting: Plan for joy.
When he said, “Plan for joy” I wanted to pause his radio show so I could take that in. It hasn’t occurred to me lately I would need to plan for joy – I assumed joy would sort of happen if I bumbled around in my life. But you know? That’s not true – I mean, sure, I stumble across joy every once and a while like an adventurer coming into a clearing – but it wasn’t necessarily something I planned for. I assumed I’d experience joy once my life was peachy keen – when my financial situation improved, the love of my life came along, etc. I think you know this already, but joy is the quiet moments, the small events that we may not remember long after they happen.
More of this. Photo by Mieke Campbell on Unsplash
Joy is having a friend call you up spontaneously asking to hang out. It’s laughing along with a television show. It’s finding out the book you put on hold at the library has become available.
Joy can be spontaneous but it can also be planned and that’s what struck me the most about Radleigh’s show. In an interesting juxtaposition, I had a powerful therapy session this week. I went from fearful, anxious, and insecure in one moment to laughing, goofy, and joyful in the next.
My therapist asked me to recall a moment I felt joyful, loved, and appreciated and then embody it. She asked if a movement or sound accompanied joy. It did – joy for me looks like strutting with my toes flexed and my heels out singing along to, “Let’s go fly a kite” or Life of Brian’s “Always look on the bright side of life.”
What amazes me is no matter how icky I feel, strutting around my cottage and singing “Always look on the bright side of life,” automatically puts a smile on my face and lifts my mood. I can be melodramatic and negative but there is also joy to be found at those times. Joy is not winning the lottery or buying a new car, it’s humming to myself while I walk, it’s remembering all the times I laughed yesterday, it’s making an active effort to improve my mood because I am continuing to plan for joy.
I dream of a world where we remember we can access joy at any time. A world where we all have that one song that brings a smile to our faces. A world where we remember the number of times we laughed yesterday. A world where we not only experience joy, we continue planning for it.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
This week the message I keep receiving is, “Trust the sweetness,” meaning, trust the sweetness of life, trust the sweetness of possibility, trust the sweetness of my relationships. For the past month, I’ve been wrestling with joy, doing my best to let more in, acting as if when that seems impossible, and trying to accept where I am without judgment and criticism. Related to it all is having faith, which is a conscious choice, and in this case, it means having faith that life is sweet.
I know it’s easy to do the opposite, to say, “Look! We’re all screwed!” I know how tempting it is to say everything is awful and to build a case for that based on real-world events. Humans have a negativity bias, we are primed for that. But we are also primed for joy and pleasure and there’s lots of evidence to support that too.
While writing this blogpost, I kept thinking about something that happened to me in May 2019. I visited with my then next-door neighbor and their dog for a spell. When I re-entered my apartment, I walked to the bathroom to wash my hands. As I turned and looked at my reflection in the mirror, I noticed something on my back. My heart leapt thinking a large spider crawled on me. When I peered closer, I determined it wasn’t a spider, it was a bumblebee.
I love this picture with its perfect mix of trust and sweetness. Photo by Fabian Kleiser on Unsplash
I spent literally one second outside crossing the threshold from my neighbor’s apartment into mine, and in that second, a bumblebee landed on me. Either that or my neighbor had a bumblebee in their house. Regardless, a strange event.
In shamanism, do you know what bumblebees represent? The honey or sweetness of life, of course. I’d like to believe the bumblebee showed up in an unusual way to emphasize that point. To say, “Yes, remember life is joyful, it’s sweet. Keep going in this direction. Remember good things and keep in mind positive outcomes are just as likely as negative ones.”
It’s not only the bumblebee delivering this message; it’s also numerous spiritual traditions around the world. The ancient Hindu scriptures, the Vedas, say, “This quinquelemental world has been born out of joy, is being maintained in joy, and into sacred joy will melt.”
My spiritual teacher also says, “On deeper analysis, we find that every object of this universe is sweet. Sweetness, not harshness, is the reality. [The Divine Beloved] no doubt deals many blows to the microcosms, but that is just to facilitate their progress. Judged from a materialistic perspective, every blow is apparently harsh, but actually it is not harsh, it is soft. [The Divine] is concerned for your well-being, that is why [It] resorts to that apparently crude technique.”
Everything is in service of sweetness, to move me closer to the Divine Beloved that is within me and outside of me. Even the hard things. Even the painful things. Even the baffling things. The loving presence that pervades this entire universe wants me to be happy, wants me to be joyful. I’m being guided to that and the more I can trust that I’m being led somewhere sweet, that life is sweet, the better. The world was born out of joy, is being maintained in joy, and will melt in sacred joy. And that means me too.
I dream of a world where we allow ourselves to move toward joy. A world where we recognize we can choose what we focus on. A world where we train ourselves to focus on sweetness and have faith that’s where we’re being led. A world where we trust in all the sweetness life has to offer.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
On the heels of my post from last week about not settling, emerged another question: “What is my capacity for joy?” If I go after what I truly want, how comfortable am I getting it? Or experiencing joy in general? It turns out I’m not all that comfortable. It’s been humbling to realize I feel better when things are going wrong than when they’re going right. And also to recognize I stop myself from feeling joy by imagining all the terrible things that could happen.
Here’s a perfect example I keep thinking about. In September 2014, my dear friend Amal and I went to Tomales Bay and swam with bioluminescent plankton. For context, Tomales Bay only has a few nights a year in which numerous factors come together so that you can perceive the bioluminescent plankton in its waters.
He and I arrived on such a night and not only did we creep to the edge of the water and splash around, Amal made the impulsive decision to get into the water. Without a wetsuit. In the Pacific Ocean. While I was wearing a hat and coat and scarf on the beach. The water though? It was warm. Warm! With a little coaxing, I stripped down to my underwear and joined him.
This is the Maldives, so not Tomales Bay but it *is* bioluminescence. Photo by Ahmed Nishaath on Unsplash
It was the most magical, mystical, profound experience with nature I’ve ever had. Him too. It was so powerful, he wrote his master’s thesis about it and I highly recommend you read his account if you haven’t already. If you want the in-depth version, there’s also a video. Here is a small quote from his piece:
“It’s one thing to think, to believe that the universe is interpenetrating and interconnected – that everything resonates with everything else, and really we’re all a part of a web. It’s another thing to literally see it – to feel it. Spinning in circles, every thrust of my arm out before me was like a spiral arm of the Milky Way, the movements of my body giving birth to billions of glimmering stars. And the lights – the lights responded to me. If I moved slowly, they moved slowly. If I moved quickly, they worked hard to keep up. Violent or gentle, deep or shallow, no matter how I moved, no matter what I did, the lights, the bay, the whole universe, it felt like, seemed lovingly, longingly, intimately desperate to respond. I felt embedded. I felt like I was dancing.”
How does this relate to my post on joy? Because even while experiencing all this beauty and wonder, I couldn’t fully be there! I kept worrying I’d get stung by a jellyfish, or step on something weird, or cut my foot on a rock. When I told Amal about it on the car ride back, he said, “That makes me sad.” I heard what he said but I couldn’t take in the sentiment because it’s where I was at the time. My sleep disorder hadn’t been sorted out, my nervous system was on high alert all the time, I was in the middle of packing up my apartment to move again. In other words, I was a wreck and so of course it was hard to take in joy.
I’m not beating myself up about it but I also don’t want to keep missing out on my life because I’m so worried about what may or may not happen. I don’t want to think about jellyfish and rocks when I’m having a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I want to be fully present and immersed in joy. The solution? I’m still working on it but it starts with letting go of my old self and replacing it with someone new.
Louise Hay has a wonderful affirmation that addresses this: “I create a new life with new rules that totally support me.” In my new life with new rules that totally support me, it’s safe to be joyful. It’s safe to be happy. I allow myself to experience all the good that life has to offer and I want that for you too.
I dream of a world where we let ourselves experience the full range of our emotions. A world where we fully immerse ourselves in the moment without worrying it will disappear. A world where we know at any time we can choose to think differently. A world where we increase our capacity to feel joy.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
A former therapist and coach told me once that grief can feel pleasurable in an unexpected way because every other emotion is heightened. You’re sad but also recognizing the transience of life and because of that transience, strawberries taste sweeter and time with loved ones is more precious. When he said this to me, I told him he was off his rocker because there was nothing pleasurable about grief but now I see what he meant.
We’re theoretically in the “happiest time of the year,” but against the backdrop of the holidays with the sparkly lights, sappy movies, and festivities, I’m sad. I’m grieving the loss of people I knew well and people that I didn’t. In the background, there’s a refrain that so-and-so isn’t here anymore and so every moment becomes more precious because I know in my bones that tomorrow isn’t promised. Grief shakes me from the dream where I think I know how anything will play out. I don’t. I really, really don’t.
My former therapist is right. My heart, it hurts. It’s squeezing in my chest and feels tender and fragile. And yet, because of the pain, there’s also more pleasure because when I come across delightful things, they are more delightful. A father and daughter were on the same Bart train as me to the airport, and then on the same flight to Seattle, and then they also took the Seattle light rail and sat next to me on that train. I watched the daughter swinging from the rail above her head as if it were monkey bars and smiled.
Darkness and light are paired together. Photo by Sasha Freemind on Unsplash
I look at the birds nibbling seed from the feeder outside my parents’ window and say, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.” The sun seems to shine brighter, flower colors are more vibrant, and everything is amplified right now because death is also so present. I’m hugging my parents a little tighter, a little longer, aware that our time together is limited.
Rashani Réa speaks to this in her poem, “The Unbroken:”
There is a brokenness
out of which comes the unbroken,
a shatteredness
out of which blooms the unshatterable.
There is a sorrow
beyond all grief which leads to joy
and a fragility
out of whose depths emerges strength.
There is a hollow space
too vast for words
through which we pass with each loss,
out of whose darkness
we are sanctioned into being.
There is a cry deeper than all sound
whose serrated edges cut the heart
as we break open to the place inside
which is unbreakable and whole,
while learning to sing.
I didn’t think it was possible, but sorrow is amplifying joy because the dial has been turned up in my life. I’m just as likely to burst into tears as I am to burst out laughing. I feel a little unhinged, a little uncontained because I am. Something has been broken open and at the moment I am painfully, exquisitely alive.
I dream of a world where we hold our grief and our joy with tenderness. A world where we recognize sometimes sorrow leads to joy because we’re aware of how fleeting everything is. A world where we absorb the preciousness of where we are right here, right now because we recognize this, too, shall pass.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
There’s a post-it on my bathroom mirror that says, “Remember life can be surprising and delightful.” To be honest, it’s been ages since surprises were anything but terrible. For instance, “Surprise! The water on your street has been shut off!” or “Surprise! You lost your wallet!” I’d kind of forgotten that surprises can be enjoyable and had an experience on Saturday that recalibrated me.
I’d intended to go hiking nearby but because of how my day unfolded, that no longer made sense. Not wanting to be cooped up all day, I chose to walk around my neighborhood instead without a destination or intention in mind. I had nowhere to go, nothing to do, no one to see. When I approached a certain intersection, I opened the maps app on my phone and noticed there was a trail nearby. “Great! Maybe I’ll go hiking after all!” What I didn’t expect is the route to the trailhead involved a hidden staircase. That’s right, the staircase was smushed between two houses and if you didn’t know it was there, you might overlook it.
Even now I’m smiling as I think about it because it felt like an adventure ascending those stairs and finding the trailhead, which similar to the staircase, was smack dab at the end of a residential street. Houses, cars, and then boom! Woods. I love that about my neighborhood. The trail itself also surprised me because it was decorated with art pieces. Children and adults alike painted wooden planks with smiley faces, decorated mailboxes, and constructed fairy houses. Not only that, dangling from certain tree branches were swings! In the middle of the woods! I truly was not expecting that although I know it happens.
A smidge of what I saw on Saturday. Photo by me!
My good mood started to radiate out and inspired me to chat with people I saw on the trail, especially if I passed them twice. “We meet again,” I said to one of them. “Your dog is beautiful,” I told another. The trail wended through redwoods and along a creek. The creek sluiced through concrete tunnels, which were yes, covered with graffiti, but also art. Someone painted two dolphins arcing on either side of a tunnel. Others spray-painted hearts everywhere, which you may or may not know is my thing. In short, hiking the trail was exactly the sort of experience that reminded me life can be fun, that it’s not all drudgery.
I mention that because it’s VERY easy for me to focus on how hard things are, the problems I’m facing, and forget the good stuff. I forget about or overlook the fun stuff, the stuff that makes me happy to be alive. But that joy is the undercurrent of our world. I’ve used this quote before but the ancient Hindu scriptures, the Vedas, say, “This quinquelemental world has been born out of joy, is being maintained in joy, and into sacred joy will melt.” We come from joy, live in joy, and return to joy. Joy is within us, which David Whyte reminds us of in a line from his poem that says:
Inside everyone
is a great shout of joy
waiting to be born.
For some of us, that great shout of joy takes longer to be expressed. Sometimes the joy is silent for months or even years, but it still exists all the same. Maybe like I wrote about in April with regards to mood, we just have to wait and that joy will return.
I dream of a world where we all experience more joy. A world where we remember joy can arrive in the form of an unexpected sculpture or a flower bursting from the soil. A world where we remember if we’re going through a hard time, joy will find us once again because joy is our birthright.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Lately I keep thinking about the joy in small pleasures. Over Memorial Day Weekend, I felt some FOMO (“fear of missing out” for those of you unfamiliar with the acronym) because other people posted pictures of themselves at the beach, or taking a long hike, or chilling in someone’s backyard. I didn’t do any of those things. I was housesitting for some friends and swayed in a hammock while reading a good book. I picked strawberries straight from the plant and plucked snap peas off the vine.
Similarly, this past weekend I plopped blueberries directly into my mouth after pulling them from the bush. I had dinner with six adults and two kids indoors, without masks, for the first time since February 2020. I’m not ashamed to admit I felt moved by the experience.
For the past year and some change, I haven’t done any of the things I mentioned above because I don’t own a hammock, or blueberry bushes, or strawberry plants. I haven’t dined with a large group of friends because it was too challenging to maneuver safely and they didn’t feel comfortable putting themselves at risk without being vaccinated.
I think hammock time is my favorite time. Photo by 🇸🇮 Janko Ferlič on Unsplash
Coming out of this pandemic, I’m treasuring those small pleasures: a warm breeze, fresh fruit and vegetables, dinner with friends. None of the things I mentioned are big affairs like a birth, wedding, graduation, or heck, even a vacation. They’re mundane and it’s easy for me to forget how much joy I derive from them.
I forget it’s the small things, the pedestrian things that can also fill my heart to bursting. It’s not always the grand adventures or the big events that move me the most. Coming out of this pandemic has shown me that. It reminds me of Mary Oliver’s famous poem “The Summer Day.” She writes:
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
I know I’m often focused on the big things but maybe I can take a page from Mary Oliver’s book and remind myself my wild and precious life includes not only the clamor and the clangor of big events but also the quiet chirp of crickets and laughter among friends.
I dream of a world where we savor the simple pleasures. A world where we recognize the joy in the mundane. A world where we remember happiness can be found not only in winning an award or manifesting our dreams, but also in hugging a dear friend and playing with a small child.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I keep thinking about the notion that my higher power wants me to be happy, joyous, and free. Due to the trauma in my background, it’s a heck of a lot easier to think God wants me to be sad, miserable, and suffering. That’s what happens with trauma – it rewires your brain and changes your perspective as a form of protection. It also certainly doesn’t help that I live in a Christian-dominant society, meaning, the idea I’ll be sent to hell for doing something wrong, is prevalent. And the thing about culture is we can’t escape it – it’s the air we breathe.
All of this is to say it’s easier for me to believe terrible things will happen in my life, to brace myself for the worst possible outcome. But is that really true? Isn’t it just as likely the best possible outcome could occur? And haven’t I seen evidence over and over again that things work out? Maybe not right away, but eventually? And if I’m wrong and things are actually terrible, which perspective makes me feel better: the optimistic one or the pessimistic one?
This isn’t a post about the benefit of optimism but rather joy itself. My spiritual philosophy emphasizes this over and over again, how we are all running after happiness. Not only human beings, but all beings. For instance, cats constantly seek warm, comfortable spots so they can curl up and sleep. We are all seeking joy.
The ancient Hindu scriptures, the Vedas, say, “This quinquelemental world has been born out of joy, is being maintained in joy, and into sacred joy will melt.” Wow. Let that statement sink in: The world was born out of joy, is being maintained in joy, and into sacred joy will melt. Instead of being a cold, cruel place, the world can be a beautiful, joyful one.
While typing this, a moth landed on my window and watching it I started thinking about the saying, “like moths to a flame.” It reminded me there’s a natural attraction in this world, that we are all drawn to something whether we’re conscious of it or not. That we’re pulled toward joy and maybe it doesn’t have to feel so difficult. Dancing brings joy. Singing brings joy. Looking at pictures of cute kids and baby animals brings joy. But so do things like serving others and meditating.
I’d like to end with a poem by Hafiz because I think it’s appropriate. It’s called “Tripping Over Joy”:
What is the difference
Between your experience of Existence
And that of a saint?
The saint knows
That the spiritual path
Is a sublime chess game with God
And that the Beloved
Has just made such a Fantastic Move
That the saint is now continually
Tripping over Joy
And bursting out in Laughter
And saying, “I Surrender!”
Whereas, my dear,
I am afraid you still think
You have a thousand serious moves.
I dream of a world where we are happy, joyous, and free. A world where we realize we are born out of joy and unto joy we shall return. A world where we remember there’s a force in the world that’s drawing us to it like a moth to a flame. A world where we realize that force is love and the process can be a joyful one.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
You know how people keep saying life feels like the movie Groundhog Day right now? That comparison doesn’t resonate for me in terms of the movie itself because in the film, Bill Murray broke up monotony by learning the piano and wooing Andie MacDowell. In my life, it feels like I’m watching Groundhog Day over and over again because I already know what to expect each day for the most part: work, a walk, and a Zoom call.
I didn’t know until I started writing this post, but a definition of Groundhog Day, is “a situation in which a series of unwelcome or tedious events appear to be recurring in exactly the same way.” So from that perspective, yeah, I’m on board with life right now being Groundhog Day. If variety is the spice of life, my life is pretty bland at the moment. There’s a pinch of variety in terms of decorating my apartment for the holidays, and FaceTiming with my family for Hanukkah, but otherwise it’s pretty monotonous over here.
When I told my mom I wasn’t sure I had anything to write about this week, especially not in a positive or uplifting way, she told me a lot of people likely feel the way I do. They’re glum because they can’t celebrate the holidays with their normal traditions, and their lives are also an endless cycle of work, walks, and Zoom calls. I know folks are feeling optimistic because vaccine distribution has started so there’s light at the end of the tunnel, but honestly, I feel like a little kid because my response is, “Yeah, but how does that help me now?” It doesn’t.
I love this picture. So joyful! Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash
And that’s true. It doesn’t. The question becomes what can I do now, in this present moment, to bring variety? In the middle of writing this post I pulled out my guitar for the first time in years. No agenda, no goal in mind like, “I want to be good enough to play in front of other people.” I just played for me, for the fun of it. I also conducted a science experiment where I mixed two drops of food coloring in oil and then poured the mixture into a glass of room temperature water. The result? Water fireworks because the food coloring separates from the oil and plummets to the bottom of the glass. My inner child loves science experiments and they definitely bring variety.
Often I look to the future to meet my needs: “I’ll feel better when XYZ happens,” and I get stuck on a certain strategy to meet those needs. For instance, “I need the pandemic to be over in order to experience variety again.” What I’m reminded through my nonviolent communication training is there are a thousand strategies to meet every need. There’s no one way or a right way. When I focus on the need itself, I’m able to brainstorm and find delightful strategies in the moment, like creating water fireworks. And sometimes the only way to meet a need in the present moment is to remember a time when the need was met in the past and relive it. The body doesn’t know the difference between the past, present, or future so reliving something can become a present moment experience.
I know this post isn’t like many of my other ones, but I share it because I want people to know they’re not alone. And secondly, it’s my wish that sharing my process can help someone else. And if not, at least I’ll have a reminder of that time in 2020 when I felt like I was losing my mind due to monotony and then played my guitar and watched food coloring metamorphosize in water.
I dream of a world where we focus on the present and what we need in the moment. A world where we remember there are a thousand ways to meet every need. A world where we understand we don’t have to put our happiness on layaway and instead we can do something to change our mood right here and right now if we choose. A world where we indulge in little joys.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
This weekend held a wide range of emotions from the high to the low. On Saturday I went to a bachelorette party for one of my closest friends. We lounged by the pool, chatted, and generally celebrated her impending marriage. It was a joy to spend time with her and other close friends of hers for the sole purpose of having fun. But I had another event this weekend and it was not a bachelorette party.
A family friend of mine passed away a couple of weeks ago and it’s sent shockwaves through my community. I say that because no one could have guessed he would have passed away. He was one of the most healthy, vibrant people I knew. When I think of him, I see him with a huge smile on his face, beaming out joy to the world. He was the same age as my parents so his death has me confronting their mortality as well. Layered on top of that, I grew up with his daughters so his death hits me in another way that’s hard to express. Sunday was his memorial service and I cried through most of the ceremony.
Seemed appropriate. Photo by Bryan Garces on Unsplash
But here’s the interesting part: joy and sorrow get to coexist within me, within us. Even during the memorial service we could hear his grandchildren laughing and playing in the background. It reminded me both emotions can be present. That joy and sorrow can be like the yin yang symbol with a little bit of white in the black and a little bit of black in the white. In my experience life is like that. Attending a wedding can bring up grief about being single. A funeral can bring not joy, but appreciation at reconnecting with friends, even if the circumstances are sad. This weekend was a study in that for me — pairing joy with sorrow.
Two years ago I wrote a poem about a similar experience following the death of a coworker called “Big Enough for Both:”
Big enough for both
Grief and celebration
A funeral and a wedding
Loss and gain
Hurting and healing
All at once
Altogether
Everything
Everything
Everything
That’s what life is like for me right now, maybe for all of us. It’s heartbreaking and heart-gladdening. It’s happy and sad. It’s frustrating and peaceful. It’s everything all at once. I want to parse things out and say, “Now is a happy time and now is a sad time,” but my life isn’t like that. It’s messy and chaotic and unpredictable. As I contemplate how to end this post, I can see my friend with a big smile on his face saying, “Don’t worry, it’s fine,” as in, I don’t have to make sense of it all, I don’t have to try to change life or circumstances. I can be here, in the moment, accepting everything.
I dream of a world where we understand life is messy, chaotic, and unpredictable — not only in terms of circumstances but also in emotions. A world where we realize the yin yang is an excellent portrayal of our experiences. A world where we understand that oftentimes joy is paired with sorrow and vice versa.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
For the past few days I’ve been thinking about how I commemorate those who matter to me. How funny and appropriate that it should coincide with Memorial Day.
What kicked off the contemplation is a recent therapy session where I connected with the spirit of my maternal grandmother through a family constellation. We discovered on a subconscious level I thought the best way to commemorate my grandmother was to remember her suffering and pay attention to my own. That if I didn’t remember all the horrible things she and my other ancestors went through that they’d be forgotten. It doesn’t make sense on a rational level, but that’s the way it goes with beliefs sometimes.
During the session I came to realize the best way to honor my grandmother and everyone else is to live a joyful life. They didn’t go through hell for me to live in misery. They want me to be happy, to notice the good things, to live a better and easier life than they did.
Isn’t this a sweet picture? Photo by Sandy Millar on Unsplash
As if to underscore the point, just before writing this post I had a baffling encounter. I visited with my next-door neighbor and their dog for a spell. When I re-entered my apartment, I walked to the bathroom to wash my hands. As I turned, I noticed something on my back. My heart leapt thinking a large spider crawled on me. When I peered closer, I determined it wasn’t a spider, it was a bumblebee. I spent literally one second outside crossing the threshold from my neighbor’s apartment into mine, and in that second, a bumblebee landed on me. Either that or my neighbor had a bumblebee in their house. Regardless, a strange event.
In shamanism, do you know what bumblebees represent? The honey or sweetness of life, of course. I’d like to believe the bumblebee showed up in an unusual way to emphasize the point. To say, “Yes, remember life is joyful, it’s sweet. Keep going in this direction. Remember good things and keep in mind positive outcomes are just as likely as negative ones.”
It’s not only the bumblebee delivering this message; it’s also numerous spiritual traditions around the world. The ancient Hindu scriptures, the Vedas, say, “This quinquelemental world has been born out of joy, is being maintained in joy, and into sacred joy will melt.” Yeah! Sign me up for that! In actuality, I don’t need to be signed up for anything because joy is already here whether I’m aware of it or not. What I’m working on these days is bringing joy out of my periphery and into the forefront. And I have that wish for everyone.
I dream of a world where we acknowledge suffering but also joy. A world where we feel into the notion that the world was born out of joy and unto joy we shall return. A world where we experience the sweetness of life.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.