Things that are Hard; Things that Open the Heart

Some things are hard in this world.

It is hard to see your kids struggle, learning to deal with friends, or the pressures of school or to find their way.

It is hard to keep up with the changes that are occurring in our rapidly changing technological world.

It is hard to pay $4.15 for a gallon of gas, not knowing where the money will come from to make up the difference in the family budget.

It is hard to see someone you love suffering from poor health, like cancer or a relentless degenerative disease.

When I look at the faces of native people photographed by Edward Curtis, I can see the eyes of people who have seen things that are hard to bear. They leave lines etched like bird tracks in the sand, tracks that tell of pain, of love and things lost that are dear to them. I feel connected to them, and I wish I could sit with some of those people, long gone from this world now, to share a morsel of food, even if it was in silence. The weight of the world's sorrows might hang around us, settling like thick dust, choking us in grief.

However, I see, no, I feel, more hope rise up within me, protesting and shaking off the ashes of fires long gone.

"Look at the sunset! Or that tree covered in blossoms! There is so much promise in this life, and this world is beautiful beyond reckoning...."

I don't mean to belittle the pain and hardships of life. I don't think it is right, nor do I wish to gloss over it, rushing, to get to some new place in a hurry. I didn't do that in Death Valley, either. In fact, I spent time savoring the heat, the dry air and the almost purifying absence of succulent life. I wanted to know what it felt like, what it did to my skin, my perception, my mind and soul.

What I found was, even in that desolate place, covered in rocks and dead plants and spiny scorpions and scaly snakes, there was joy and beauty and hope and promise. There was a cleansing power that scrubbed my soul with hot sand. And it was good. Really good.

Nature can cleanse our hearts and our minds, and restore us in ways that books, t.v., talk therapy and other substitutes can't touch. It just works. And why wouldn't it work? It is us. Time spent in nature, submersed in her sounds, our senses flooded with birdsong, wind, stars and the scent of pines all combine to renew us.

Watching my son tell a new joke or make something he couldn't do before melts my heart and makes me so grateful to be alive, despite the hardships.

Waking to the sound of birdsong can bring tears to my eyes.

Sharing a meal of color, spices and friendships is also healing and appreciated.

Talking about current events with peers brightens my day, despite the fact that it is mostly words whisked away in the breeze, to disperse and vanish with nothing to show for it. Maybe it is just practice, in thinking, of all things!

Making a fire without matches and sharing it with friends. Warmth. Light. Crackling wood and hissing of steam.

Music. It opens my heart in ways I can't express.

Working with a team of people towards a common goal. Getting things done, together. Yeah!

Hugging someone you love.

So, what is my point? Where am I going with all of this?

I don't know, really, but I am grateful to be alive. To be here, feeling both ends of the spectrum.

I am thankful, and to everyone, everything in this Universe, I say, simply: Thank you.