On the power of orienting toward joy
How the brilliance of the world is always hiding in plain sight
Hi friends, if you’re new to this newsletter, welcome! It’s part of an intention to hold a new kind of conversation about the inner dimension of turbulent change. And after the wild ride of 2020, I’d like to thank my voice teacher Adrienne Shamszad — who has not only helped me grow my outer expression to increasingly match my inner experience — but who also nudged me to turn toward and write about joy! Sending you much holiday love, M
December, for me, is one of the most wondrous times of year. Whether it’s the light of Rudolph’s nose, a string of lights wrapping a tree, or menorah candles, it’s hard to not revel in the stark poignancy of light set against the backdrop of long dark nights.
In this year when the light of the world so often seemed to flicker, I’m grateful for the return of the light — not just for the Solstice when daylight will grow longer once again, but for the first covid vaccine shipments, the chaos of the presidential election seeming to have been settled, and the arrival of a fresh page on the calendar.
This year was my secret masterclass in joy and wonder. The enforced slowness taught me that the expansive possibility for joy is always nearby, and perhaps even more so after a spell of darkness. Just as the sun and moon are always present, it’s just the way we’re turned that determines whether we can perceive their radiance, or trust in their return.
The brilliance of the world is, and has always been, hiding in plain sight.
It’s been in plain sight, even in the streets of Oakland. You see, my long, ambling daily walks will be what I remember as what most regularly brought me joy in 2020. Freed of the need to walk purposefully, I let my feet and attention roam as they pleased.
And roam they did. Rounding street corners I’d never explored, my nose delighted in being surprised by plumes of air perfumed by jasmine. My eyes feasted on the vast mystery of an ever-changing sky, and explosive sunsets over the Bay. My lips discovered the unexpected glory of hyper-local fruit — all manner of citrus, cherry plums, pineapple guava, and persimmons.
But with the streets quieter than usual, what most captivated me was the birdsong.
Rather than let the birdsong be like a radio station playing in the background, I really heard it for the first time in my life. I even started to recognize some of their songs. It was like being able to pick out the voices of fellow neighbors — like, “Oh, that’s Beth across the street talking with her daughter.”
The more I paid attention, the more I discovered there were entire conversations unfolding all the time. In quarantine, I didn’t need to go on Nextdoor to find out what my neighbors were talking about. My neighbors — the Yellow-Rumpled Warbler, White-Crowned Sparrow, and Thrush — were already gabbing all around me. It was just in a language that I as a non-winged one simply hadn’t yet learned.
Their song was the music of life. The world has always been teeming with it. It just took getting out of my head and back into my soft animal body for my world to grow larger, and more wonder-full.
In the words of cultural ecologist David Abram:
“Our bodies are what let us be in the world, and the world to be in us. They allow us to be in conversation with the world, and open to its infinite depth.”
Said another way, joy and wonder only live in deep relationship. They’re not things we can reason our way into or conjure out of thin air. They need to be felt, seen, and lived in full presence.
These are embodied experiences that are beautiful precisely because of their particularity — they belong to a unique time, place, and context. They’re conversations that can’t be repeated or stockpiled because their beauty is just that alive.
When we train ourselves to turn toward what brings us alive — literally what animates us — we step out of the trance of social conditioning. Rather than seek substitutes like power and control (which take us out of true relationship), we reconnect to what is most authentically life-giving — our soul, and the soul of the world.
And when we allow ourselves to be led from that place, we create the world anew moment-by-moment — one joy at a time.
…because heaven knows we’ll need it in 2021!
I’m curious to hear — what brought you joy or wonder in 2020? Leave a comment or send me an email!
P.S., 3 things that brought me joy recently…
A practice: Miksang walks
To keep my walks fresh, I sometimes choose something to soak in. It might be pops of color (which has been amazing in autumn). Or it might be looking for new life — like tree buds, or newly sprouting leaves. It’s a technique I learned from Miksang photography which makes the world a "joyful playground of vivid visual perceptions”.
A podcast: “Where Joy Hides”
Just listening to this show made me smile. It was a reminder that in the “unproductive”, we stumble into what’s most wonderful.
An amazement: Monday’s Solstice
It’s not just the tipping point for the return of the light, but also the first visible crossing of Saturn and Jupiter in the night sky since 1226! (The astronomy and the astrology are fascinating.)
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