January 21 – Appreciative joy

Dear Friends,

When the Buddha was giving instructions to his son, Rahula, one of the teachings was “Develop the meditation of appreciation. For when you are developing the meditation of appreciation, resentment will be abandoned.” This is the heart quality of muditā.

In her book, Lovingkindness, Sharon Salzberg tells us that this practice of muditā is a way of eliminating boredom:

Boredom is based on a sense of separateness and a turning away that we feel when we experience certain degrees of aversion. When we stop paying attention to the little things in life, and the little things in our meditation practice as well, we find ourselves in a state of boredom.

By reconnecting to the little things, we awaken again to a delightful kind of openness. Taking the time to marvel at a little flower as it creeps up through a crack in the pavement, we can feel joy, even though we are aware that this planet is in a very severe ecological crisis.

Similarly, Christina Feldman writes:

We may associate joy with the dramatically happy and intense moments in our lives: falling in love, the birth of a child, a reunion with a treasured friend, the glorious sunset. Yet joy can take us by surprise, born of the simplest of life experiences. Our attention is caught by the sparkle of the dewdrop on the grass, the infectious laughter of a child in the playground, the smile offered by a stranger, the image of a penguin waddling along the beach. We are suddenly awake, present in our life, and our hearts are gladdened. Joy, we might say, is the song of the awakened heart.

Christina continues:

Appreciation rests upon recliming an innocence of perception. We see a small child chortling with delight while holding a wriggling worm in his or her hand for the first time, endlessly fascinated with jumping off the same step over and over, and we marvel at a child’s capacity for wonder. Joy is concerned with reclaiming that capacity within ourselves, to be able to see anew.

Consider Mary Oliver’s poem:

My Work is Loving the World

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird –
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,

Which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

Or the musings of Billy Collins:

This morning as I walked along the lakeshore,
I fell in love with a wren
and later in the day with a mouse
the cat had dropped under the dining room table.

In the shadows of an autumn evening,
I fell for a seamstress
still at her machine in the tailor’s window,
and later for a bowl of broth,
steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.

…

But my heart is always propped up
in a field on its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.

After I carried the mouse by the tail
to a pile of leaves in the woods,
I found myself standing at the bathroom sink
gazing down affectionately at the soap,

so patient and soluble,
so at home in its pale green soap dish.
I could feel myself falling again
as I felt its turning in my wet hands
and caught the scent of lavender and stone.

Christina suggests a practice to help reawaken this sense of awe:

Intentionally bring mindfulness to a simple journey you make regularly: the walk to work, the trip to do errands, the time spent on a train. Commit yourself to stillness and to being wholeheartedly present. Bring your attention to simply seeing wholeheartedly — whatever sights are present, noticing their colors and shapes, mindful of the sun on the ground or the rain washing over the leaves. Sense how your mindfulness illuminates the world of the moment. See with sensitivity; breathe with sensitivity. Allow yourself to be touched and gladdened by the simple moments of loveliness, part of each of our days.

What did you notice? What brings you joy? Comment below!

With best wishes,
Andrea