Moss Garden

The other morning I woke up and I felt great. I mean, really, really wonderful. And for no particular reason, either. I was just bathed in a particularly delicious glow of Spirit.

It’s not that I usually wake up on the other end of the spectrum, as a black hole, an abyss of morning — well, ok, sometimes I do? — but this particular morning I felt like a little happy patch of moss in the sunshine and it was so very sweet.

I decided to cultivate that feeling. Not analyze it, just savor it in all its happy brilliance. And I definitely decided that I wanted to wake up like that every morning, for no particular reason.

There are so many voices — inside my head and out in the world — that tell me it’s not OK to be blissful. That so much is going wrong, at least not going well, or worse — about to unhinge and collapse into disaster. From the climate to the president to my own personal struggles to make a career for myself, or even just to have a clean house (though I’ve reached a nice equilibrium on that one, finally, wherein my house, in its default state, is close to moderately presentable state, which is good enough for me), there is a sense that there is no room for that sweet mossy bliss that comes just from being alive, on a sunny morning, with orchids blooming on my windowsill and the sunlight broken into rainbows all along my ceiling and walls.

And maybe it’s because I’ve been meditating, consistently though poorly, for several months now, that I’ve managed to sweep a small space of my consciousness clear of all that thought-debris and been able to experience bliss. Pure and simple, for no reason, I woke and everything was beautiful.

I’m not exactly sure how to cultivate that. But I’m going to. It’s not the same as Joseph Campbell’s follow your bliss. It’s a little more like be your bliss. As in, there is a little patch of moss growing in my heart, and I’m going to tend the soil, make some space for it to spread, to take over the garden that is my body.

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