Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful.
—Norman Vincent Peale (1898-1993)
It was an odd place to have a revelation, trying on a sweater! I’d just finished a great yoga session, when I spotted a charity shop and decided I’d see if they had any Christmas bits to add to my décor. That’s when I spotted a sweater and decided to try it on.
The shock came when I glanced at myself in the mirror. I hardly recognized me. My eyes were glowing, my face animated and decked with a charming smile. I looked amazing!
I’ve often wondered how, photo wise, I generally look awful (I hate photos) but sometimes there are these gorgeous pictures where I look super young and pretty. I’ve never understood also why some men found me very attractive when to my mind I was obviously not.
Guess I “caught myself in the act”. Looking dumfounded in the mirror it hit me like a revelation. It was the joy and happiness shining through that had transformed my looks. At last I understood I too was beautiful I just had to “let it shine”.
I’d noticed before that when couples fell in love they both seemed more attractive, how a confident, outgoing woman, while not actually physically beautiful could beguile you into believing her attractive, but I’m not in love and I’m the shy retiring type.
I realized though staring bewildered at my own reflection that if I lived in joy it would transform my “reasonably OK” type face into something beautiful.
“Let me paint you a world.” He paused, smiling. In this creation only the purest of colours are used. Hate, pain and bitterness with their somber hues cannot exist, their grim blacks, browns, and purple shadows are melted by the brilliance of the light. They do not cease to exist, rather they are transformed.”
“Think of water flowing, forming rainbows in the wind, creating with its touch the things and beings that inhabit this place.” Colours leap from his brush to embrace the air, dancing, cavorting, as if set free from their confinement among the somber hues.
“But how… How can we do it,” a man asked, voice quivering at the splendor before him.
The dream master turned, his brush suspended.
“Words are real things,” he answered. “You breathe them upon the air and colour the world around you. The world you perceive is the outcome of the words you utter. The secret is to choose your pallet well, to use the best and most beautiful pigments.”
“What if others paint ugliness?” a gruff voice chimed from the back.
“Why then you repaint!” he answered with a smile.
Listen to the song of the waters. Did you know that waters “sing”? They do. Think of the sound of the ocean, a rippling stream, the soft flow of the river, even the rhythmic drip of a leaky tap.
Water sings in its yieldedness, rejoices in its path, not fearful for it cannot be destroyed only transformed. Sometimes it is frozen and still, biding its time. Sometimes it evaporates and journeys through the air. Though this transformation is difficult the ride is heavenly.
Water takes all shapes and sizes. It is the situations through which it passes that change, even they over time are transformed by its presence. Things around us are stagnant, unmovable (save for our presence) but we can just flow freely into any mould or shape.
Enjoy water as it cleanses and invigorates. See yourself like a rippling brook, not big enough to drown in, but pleasant to the eye and ear, refreshing to the skin. Flow on the paths set before you seeking the lowliest ground for there you shall progress the faster.
They wait in the serenity of the forest, breathing in stillness, spirits calm, eyes taking in shafts of light filtering through the canopy above. Birds pepper the silence with songs of freedom and the fresh smell of earth invades their nostrils. They don’t know why they are here or what called them, only this is where they are meant to be. Called from many places, transported on the breath of dreams to this spot, they linger, glancing at each other. A tiny leaf swirls, drifting from its place among the foliage. Separated from its peers the wind bears it as it wanders slowly downward. A bud that swelled in pride and opened its mouth to the sun has shriveled and let go its hold. It sighs upon the wind seeing no purpose in its demesne, not seeing the eyes tracing its course upon the air. The wind unseen, the leaf beheld, transformed into its compass. Unnoticed the dream master emerges. “Don’t be afraid, let life’s wind catch you,” he whispers. “Dance in its embrace as it guides you on your way.” Many leaves begin to descend for the season of falling leaves has come. They lie on soft earth, alone no more, carpeting the forest in hues of red and gold..
Ted looked down at the paper, small, white and official it delineated his worst nightmare. He was tired and redundant.
He’d seen it coming of course, read the writing on the wall, they needed new, young blood in the executive pool. So what now? At least there was a hefty severance payment involved.
He looked around at the immaculate walls and fancy décor. If only Ellen hadn’t induced him to buy this place (or the hundred other things) he’d be sitting pretty, could have gone into early retirement. She had not taken it well, demanding he find another job and fast, but that wouldn’t be easy at his age…
He looked out through the French windows eyes drifting over the landscaped garden, picturing only the bills yet to be paid for its contours. Then his eyes lit on a bird, a robin, seeking worms in the newly mowed lawn. He envied its freedom, no house, no mortgage and no grasping wife.
He sat pondering as it hopped to and fro. Suppose he was that free what would he do? He’d sell this place for starters. He’d never wanted it in the first place. He’d buy a small cottage outright and live on his severance pay for awhile, maybe he’d take that early retirement they’d offered and enjoy what years he had left far from office politicking… or maybe he’d freelance a bit…
The more he thought the more the obnoxious paper transformed. It had become his ticket to freedom! Ellen could come along for the trip if she wanted or she could go stay with those rich relatives she was always on about and see how long that lasted. He loved her, but he’d had enough, was her attachment to him or his ability to supply those things she lusted after. Time would tell. Looking out at the robin he smiled as he sipped his coffee, he felt oddly free!
Listen to the song of the waters. Did you know waters sing? Think of the song of the ocean, rippling streams, the soft flow of the river, even the rhythmic drip of a leaky tap. Water sings in its yieldedness, rejoices in its path. It knows no fear, cannot be destroyed, only transformed. Ancient of ancients, here since the beginning, sometimes frozen and still, biding its time; sometimes evaporated journeying through the air. This transformation is difficult but the journey shows far vistas that would have remained unseen had it not risen.
Like life water takes all shapes and sizes. It is the situations through which it passes that change, that over time are transformed by its presence. Things around are stagnant, unmovable (save by its passage) but it flows freely into any mold or shape, seeking the lowliest ground for there it shall progress the faster.