Salt Heart

I was tired,
half sleeping in the sun.
A single bee
delved the lavender nearby,
and beyond the fence,
a trowel’s shoulder knocked a white stone.
Soon, the ringing stopped.
And from somewhere,
a quiet voice said the one word.
Surely a command,
though it seemed more a question,
a wondering perhaps—”What about joy?”
So long it had been forgotten,
even the thought raised surprise.
But however briefly, there,
in the untuned devotions of bee
and the lavender fragrance,
the murmur of better and worse was unimportant.
From next door, the sound of raking,
and neither courage nor cowardice mattered.
Failure – uncountable failure – did not matter.
Soon enough that gate swung closed,
the world turned back to heart-salt
of wanting, heart-salts of will and grief.
My friend would continue dying, at last
only exhausted, even his wrists thinned with pain.
The river Suffering would take what it
wished of him, then go. And I would stay
and drink on, as the living do, until the rest
would enter into that water—the lavender swept in,
the bee, the swallowed labors of my neighbor.
The ordinary moment swept in, whatever it drowsily holds.
I begin to believe the only sin is distance, refusal.
All others stemming from this. Then come.
Rivers, come. Irrevocable futures, come. Come even joy.
Even now, even here, and though it vanish like him.

Jane Hirshfield

What About Joy?

The other day, one of my caregivers arrived with Riley – a 2-year-old, small poodle, who has come here before. I forgot she was coming or else didn’t know, but I was having a particularly dismal morning and when my caregiver opened the door and let Riley in, I burst into tears; both from joy and pent-up sadness at having one more day of difficulty. Riley immediately jumped into my lap, and the tears poured out more.

            Listen. I know all dogs are “good dogs”, even the “bad” ones. I know your dog is “the best” dog ever to pad the universe. But I have to tell you Riley is at the top of the list. She is also the Absolute Cutest Dog in the world. She is a true lap dog, weighing about 10 pounds, has the sweetest brown eyes and the best disposition. She is the embodiment of joy.

            Many days, I contemplate what I can do to make myself feel better. I think of meditation, relaxation CD’s, Yoga, or calling my therapist. Serious stuff. Yet, on some levels, all these can take effort or determination. Dogs, on the other hand, take nothing at all to lift your spirits. They embody loving-kindness, unconditional love and acceptance. They jump in your lap, lick your face, are genuinely glad to see you. They don’t judge you; they have zero pretenses. This is refreshing. This is good news. They don’t care if you can’t walk, can’t sleep, are in pain, or have snot on your face. They simply just love you the way you are. And I don’t know about you, but when I’m feeling at my worst, my negative judgments come sailing in. So, to have this little, exuberant bundle of joy come literally leaping into my lap, is a precious gift and a reminder that who I am, right here, right now, is perfect. I don’t need to do “it” better. I’m not a failure for having anxiety and not sleeping (again). Who I am is deserving of unconditional love – no matter what state of mind I’m in.

            Thanks for the reminder, Riley.

Riley
Me and Riley