Where Does Happiness Lie?

 Aristotle, the 4th century BCE Greek philosopher, once wrote, "Happiness seems to lie in leisure. It belongs to those who are self-sufficient."

The original quote I saw was in the German postcard calendar I buy every year as prompts for these blogposts, and this week, I struggled with the translation. Not for most of it, but for the last three words, "sich selber genügen." This could either mean "self-sufficient" OR "sufficient for themselves", which doesn't mean quite the same.

Because being self-sufficient can mean closing ourselves off from connections with others, whereas "sufficient for themselves" can mean that we find our own company enough. I know this is hair-splitting, but to me, it feels quite different. I enjoy solitude, which is what I mean by being sufficient for myself, but would not like to cut myself off from human connection.

I also struggled with "Happiness seems to lie in leisure", because that ain't necessarily so. I also find happiness in working hard, in being absorbed in writing or crochet or cross-stitch. It is an active engagement, just relaxing.  I guess it hinges on how we define "leisure", which my Concise Oxford Dictionary defines as "time at one's own disposal", which I suppose includes doing something active. Being at leisure is about having no calls on our time, which is delightful, and does bring me happiness, because it means I can do what brings me joy. Which might be hard work, nonetheless.

But I would say that happiness *also* lies in leisure. A few years ago, I blogged about the things that bring me happiness here and I am delighted to report that all those things still bring me happiness; I would only want to add crocheting and playing chess with my son.

Where does happiness lie for you?

Recognise the Eternal

 The Chinese sage Confucius wrote, "Recognise the eternal and you are wise." 

Which sort of begs the question, "What is eternal?"

To which the pure answer is, "only God." Or perhaps, "only change." But I think what Confucius was getting at, was that we need to have a sense of perspective in our lives. And have some deeply-held beliefs and values on which we can rely, when we encounter any difficult situation.

Having a sense of perspective is something (I find) that has become easier as I've got older. Perhaps because I have more, and more varied, experience of life, I am more able to recognise that this (whatever 'this' is) has happened before, and it passed. Nothing in our lives is constant - everything changes, all the time - and so perhaps the only wise way to deal with it is to recognise this and not take whatever it is too hard. Or try to cling on to it, if it is something wonderful. Because "this too shall pass." It's a quality of being able to step back, be a little detached, activate our inner observer.

But this is easier if we have some deeply held beliefs and values on which to rely. So long as these do not render us unable to cope with change. If they support us, enable us to cope and move on, or appreciate and move on, that is good. But if our beliefs and values are not healthy ones, they can have the opposite effect, so that we become victims of our circumstances.

A sense of perspective also enables us to appreciate the cycle of the seasons, which is both eternal and ever new. Yes, there will be snowdrops and daffodils and crocuses and primroses and new buds and blossom this Spring, as there always are, but *these* snowdrops, daffodils, crocuses, primroses, new buds and blossom are absolutely new, never before seen. That is the closest I can come to an appreciation of the eternal, which changes.

Rejoice!

This week's quotation, from Russian author, Leo Tolstoy, "Rejoice in the sky, the sun, the stars, the grass and trees, the animals and the people," really spoke to me.

Because I love walking outside in nature, at any time of day, whatever the weather (although sunshine is best!). It has been one of the great consolations in my life since lockdown started - to be able to go for a daily walk, either round the village, round the fields that surround the village, or in the Forest. It is a constant joy to watch the cycle of the year unfolding in front of my eyes, and to marvel both in the perennial familiarity of snowdrops in February and daffodils in March, and yet to also be filled with wonder that I have never before seen these snowdrops, these daffodils. And in the endlessly changeful beauty of the trees and sky. And so I rejoice.

I also rejoice in the presence of my beautiful cat, Luna, even if she wants to sit on my knee at the most awkward time (such as when I'm trying to record my weekly service, or when I'm trying to crochet). She is warm and friendly and loving. And so I rejoice.

I rejoice in the daily presence of my husband and son, and in the more distant, but regular, connection (because she is in Kilnhurst) with my daughter. This evening, we are getting together on Zoom to do a family quiz. Each person offers two rounds, with ten questions in each round... it is fun and often hilarious. This month, I'm doing a round on Harry Potter and an online version of Kim's Game. Simple pleasures, enjoyed with my family And so I rejoice.

What do you rejoice in?

 

Yes, but...

 "The years teach a lot that the days never know" is this week's quotation, by Unitarian and Transcendentalist, Ralph Waldo Emerson. I love his writings and never thought I would find myself disagreeing with him. But this time, I do. At least in part...

I agree with him, in so far as the longer we live, the more it is possible to learn. And that hopefully, if we use our time, minds and souls well, we will benefit from the learning. And that it is not possible to learn about all the aspects of anything in a very short time - months and years of familiarity and study are needed.

Here comes the "but". I find that there are transcendental days, transcendental moments, transcendental experiences, which can change our lives forever, in what seems like an instant. I'm talking about the sudden spark of inspiration or understanding which comes like a bolt from the blue and we realise something new and startling about our world. Those moments when, after we have experienced them, life is forever divided into "before" and "after". 

Let me share some examples from my own life. 

• The moments that my son and daughter were born and I experienced instant and life-changing love for them. It was almost like a physical jolt through my body - I was consumed by it. 
• My first sight of the Jungfrau soaring white and beautiful into the blue sky of Switzerland, at the age of 13 - I had never seen anything so beautiful, so awe-inspiring. 
• Watching the BBC documentary The War Game at a CND meeting in the late 1970s and really understanding for the first time how evil nuclear weapons are.
• A less lofty moment - plunging into an ice-cold lake for a naked swim and feeling so very alive.
• Many instances of reading books which changed how I thought, what I believed about life and my place in it.

I am sure that you will be able to think of your own Eureka moments. So yes, Mr. Emerson, the years do teach a lot, but the days and the moments can as well.

I would love to know what your Eureka moments have been...

Everything Flows

 These words, "Everything flows and nothing stays [the same]" typify the philosophy of Ancient Greek philosopher, Heraclitus of Ephesus. According to Wikipedia, "he was most famour for his insistence on ever-present change - known in philosopy as 'flux' or 'becoming' - as the characteristic feature of the world." He also wrote the well-known saying, "No man ever steps int he same river twice." (who knew?)

And I think they are the truest words I know. Every human being is in a state of constant change, although we go to great lengths to disguise it. Every person, place, event, written or spoken word, social media post we encounter will have a certain impact on us. This may be small, but incrementally, we are in change (or flux) all the time. The person I am today is not the same person as I was yesterday (or even half an hour ago - I've just had a phone call which has brought me joy). But we relate to people *as though* they were exactly the same as the last time we encountered them. 

The Buddhists know this well. They recognise that everything is impermanent, and that if we try to cling to impermanent things, we will never be satisfied. It is perhaps natural to want the good things in our lives to carry on, but this can never happen. Everything changes. Everything. So the trick is to recognise that this is the case, and be able (and willing) to let go. The third of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism is Nirodha, the cessation of suffering. The Buddha taught that the best way to extinguish desire, which causes suffering, is to liberate yourself from attachment. I sometimes think this is a bleak outlook on life - but I recognise that actually, it is realistic, rather than pessimistic. 

Because if *everything* changes, that also applies to bad things in our lives - grief, suffering, pain. And yet we cling to these just as fervently as we do to the good things. How often have we replayed distressful incidents and conversations in our heads, unable to let them go.... and hence bringing them back into the present again? I know I have.

There's an old story, which goes something like this (I can't find it to quote it accurately). Two monks were about to cross a river, when they saw a young woman standing timidly at the bank. The older of the two monks offers to carry her across on his back, and does so. She is grateful and goes on her way.

    The interesting thing about this story is the conversation the two monks have afterwards. The younger monk is shocked that the older monk has had such close physical contact with a woman, and expresses his misgivings forcibly. The older monk turns to him and says, "Carrying her across the river was a kindness to her. I did this, and have moved on. Why are you still carrying her?"

I think the moral of the story is that everything changes, therefore we should not be attached to anything but strive to live in the present, and *be* present in that moment, which is the only instant that Time touches Eternity. 

*Only* in the woods?

 When I saw the image for this week's quotation, sunlight filtering through the green leaves of trees, I felt at peace.

Then I read the quotation, by Michelangelo, "Peace can only be found in the woods," and thought, "Why only?" If he had said, "peace can be found in the woods", I would have agreed completely. But *only* in the woods?? No, surely not.

When I walk in my local woods, Salcey Forest, I do feel a great sense of peace steal into my soul, especially if the sun is shining. There is something very special about being surrounded by other living things, all going about their business with no regard for humankind. I walk in the forest at all seasons and am filled with awe and wonder at the beauty around me. Whether it is the sky with its endlessly changeful patterns of clouds, the birds filling the air with their calls, or the glory of the trees themselves, walking in the woods makes me feel grounded, at one with the world.

But that little word "only" spoils the entire quotation for me. Because although I do find peace in the woods, I also find peace in other places - worshipping with fellow Unitarians, meditating in front of my shrine each morning, sitting in my lounge, quietly reading or crocheting, in many churches and chapels - I could go on, but you get the point.

Peace is a state of mind, which may be influenced by external factors. I have also *not* felt at peace in all those places. Then I remember the beautiful prayer of St Teresa of Avila:

May today there be peace within.

May I trust God that I am exactly where I am meant to be.

May I not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.

May I use those gifts I have received,

and pass on the love that has been given to me.

May I be content, knowing I am a child of God.

May this presence settle into my bones,

and allow my soul the freedom

to sing, dance, praise and love.

It is there for each and every one of us.

May it be so, Amen.

Two Ways of Seeing

 One of the proverbs of Solomon, in the Hebrew Bible, reads, "In the mirror of the water, you can see your face, and in the mirror of your thoughts, you can see yourself."

There are two ways of seeing - the literal way, with our eyes, the the spiritual way, with our hearts. I think these words are inviting us to see beyond the obvious - to use our deeper senses to look past the surface of our lives and perceive the deeper truths. 

This is neither an easy nor a comfortable process. It can be very tempting to skate along the surface of our lives and persuade ourselves that we are okay. It takes discipline and courage to delve deeper, to catch sight of the shadows lurking in our hearts and minds, acting on us without our conscious knowledge. 

I'm no psychologist, but I am only too aware that when someone does something that presses my buttons, I need to look inside myself to understand why, before lashing out blindly in reaction. Each one of us is unique and what bothers me, may not worry you at all, but you may get wound up by something that I am happy to let pass unremarked.

So I think that this proverb is a warning to think before we act, and to definitely take the time to think before we re-act to what is happening in our world. Because we are all at the centre of our own stories, and see things from our own unique viewpoint. It takes courage and compassion to make the effort to walk in another's shoes, and to see things from their viewpoint. Which may be very different from ours.