I pull myself back from a ranting session regarding the conditions of this country, walk into a room full of people, and find a soft fluffy cushion.
With a groan, I gently lower myself onto the floor—it used to be so easy, but I cross my legs at the ankles and sit entranced by the people in the room who spark like exposed electrical wires.
A hardwood floor buffed to a golden shine creates a frame for the soft, fluffy, beige rug spread at its center. A beautiful fragrance drifts past me, and I look to my right where a crystal vase of Star Gazer Lilies sits on a credenza against the wall. Besides that one piece of furniture there is no other except a few folding chairs and cushions. Every person has a beverage of their choice, coffee, tea, water, or vino, sitting beside them on absorbent coasters. The air becomes as charged as the people when folks introduce themselves and share what they are into. There is a machinist in the bunch, a physicist, a painter, a seamstress, and a mother glowing with love after the birth of long-awaited twins yet enjoying her evening out.
There are writers in the group; some write articles, or books, and some journal only for themselves. Others express that they detest having to write anything, even to the extent of getting in trouble with their boss for late emails. A professional glass blower is nursing a burnt hand while saying glass blowing is his calling. He feels transformed while doing it and hopes to continue into old age.
Others murmur that they, too, feel joy while doing some creative endeavor. Even the chemist who finds that growing fungi in a petri dish never ceases to amaze him.
The glass blower mentions that there is a stained-glass window in a Cathedral in France, where images in the glass look like sign waves of music.
“Could that be a recording?” someone asks.
Another suggests that secrets such as Leonard Di Vince painted on his canvases might be embedded in the glass, and the room sparks with enthusiasm about some of the mysteries scattered about the earth.
I’m sure the Muse is outside the door listening and waiting for a lull so she can come in and whisper in the ear of each participant.
Someone mentions a documentary they had watched, “How to Find Joy in A Troubled World” which brings the room down a bit, but when someone suggests we watch it, and we all eagerly sit up and turn our attention to the television the hostess wheels into the room.
For the next 90 minutes, we all sit transfixed as we watch a Buddhist monk, the Dalai Lama, and the Christian Jesuit Archbishop of South Africa, Desmond Tutu, tease each other, laugh and joke like two ten-year-old boys, and refer to each other as their “spiritual brother.” Archbishop Tutu even gets the Dalai Lama to jiggle in a supposed dance, and the Dalai Lama leads a meditation. They eat birthday cake and laugh some more.
We end the gathering while everyone is musing or laughing or crying, and although most people would prefer talking into the night, it appears that luminous clouds have appeared beneath everyone’s feet, and after hugging each other, we all agree to meet again, and we float away to our respective vehicles with the refrain of two men singing in our ears:
“No dark fate determines our future. We do. Each day and each moment, we are able to create and re-create our lives and the very quality of human life on our planet.
“This is the power we wield.”*
*From The Book of Joy by the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu, narrated by Douglas Abrams
P.S. I am continuing with this Newsletter, and posting it on Substack. You can read them there if so inclined. No fee, just a sign in--which would help my site of course. Thanks for reading. May the Muse be with you,
