Allowing light

Sitting this morning to write, the steam rising out of my hot cereal, Papa Quail calling from the top of his favorite mesquite; Gila Woodpeckers, Black-throated Sparrows, a Lucy’s Warbler—all the little morning sounds; Mica Mountain bright in the eastern light, lined with a few blue shadows from scattered clouds; the sink, the stove, the shoes at the door all offering their usual silent support.

Sometimes, I don’t allow joy in. I don’t fully trust that deep sense of well-being that can well up from inside when I am just still—that sense that everything is what it is, that there is a “rightness” in the world. My rational mind is quick to remind me of a possible future that is not so right. Or of a remembered past that still needs examination. My social self worries about other people, doesn’t think I can feel joy when other people are suffering. There is something about accepting that innate, inherent okay-ness that seems naïve and foolish: my amygdala is certain that it would be smarter to look for danger, question everything. Don’t be taken in, it whispers to me.

But all of this seems less certain to me this morning. All of the above strategies seem to bring only a tighter entanglement with my own worries and fears. What if that sense of inner well-being is what leads me to act with courage and confidence, no matter what the future brings? What if instead of sympathy and guilt I were to choose compassion, which can acknowledge both joy and suffering at once? What if accepting my own delight is what makes life worth living, right now?

Can I accept this peace in this moment?

Can I see with my own inner light?