Did we give any away yesterday, or today? Just to be kind, slap someone on their emotional back, reward for just being alive, making their way through something tough?
Hey …. atta boy!
Hope is full.
No hope isn’t hopeful. That is running on empty.
We plant seeds, don’t we?
We plant seeds of hope, or seeds of doubt – we do this with attitude, not with our words, we coach contentment or discontent. Which will it be today, for me and for thee, who we will we make laugh, who will we make cry, who will we lift up – who will we simply walk across, walk over, step over, look down upon?
I love the sound, sitting by an open window in the half-hour before sunrise. Birds, like a cooperating United Nations, are making speeches to each other about the coming day. Chirping the news, that the sun will soon be here. I need to go walk, I need to go see the sunrise – but I hold back and sip some more coffee, because those encouraging bird-words are lifting my spirits too, telling me that everything good is about to blossom forth, that nothing too-tough to deal with will mess with my day. Atta boy!
Affirmation of our spirit is not a disconnect from reality. More like underlining it deeply with a purple felt-marker – boldly reinforcing the boldness in every step of every path every person walks. Or crawls. From when we slithered out of primordial ocean soup, or from when we crawled out of bed this morning, there is hope.
Where there is hope, you’ll find joy.
column written/ published from Calgary
morning walk: 11C / 52F, light breeze, twilight melted away as we walked, dusty-rose painted horizons muted themselves into palest of grey-blue haze – a clear day emerging as beautifully as a flower opening to sunshine. Gusta’s dew-soaked legs from loping through the tall grass as we did a light jog to the tune of crows and songbirds, magpies and swallows …