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Cultivating Joy
Hamsaka
goosewhispererPolishing the 'just so' Veteran
When you ask yourself 'how do I cultivate joy?', what is the first, reflexive response that comes up?
I had some Audible.com credits to use, and got three of Thich Nhat Hahn's books, recordings of his teachings over the years. He is so gentle, and so loving, and these are his teachings in a nutshell. He said in one talk I listened to "how do you cultivate joy in your life? Joy is our natural state."
That stopped me in my tracks. Of course, I want joy. I hope and yearn for joy, like the rest of humanity, right? But joy has always been something that happened to me, not something I 'cultivated'. Joy sails in like grace and a blessing, it comes from outside this body and mind (not often enough). I wait for joy, I hope for joy, I look for it, and do things I sincerely hope will bring me joy. I watch joy through a glass darkly and pound on the glass, or at least droop against it tiredly in despair.
But wait. Joy is our natural state? It is a state of being that is already here? Where is it, then?
I've always loved birds, not just because they fly and sing and are colorful, but also for their simple post-reptilian directness. I don't remember when this happened, it was years and years ago, and I was alone and quiet and watching some starlings outside the window; they were swooping and lighting here and there, but most were on the ground busily poking their beaks into the newly mown lawn. I left myself for a moment and felt their joy. I came BACK to myself the next moment (with a bit of a shock) but this moment never left me. Why do birds zip and zing, light on tree branches, puff out their little chests and sing so without any obvious audience? What goes through their little brains as they poke their beaks into the shorn grass with such concentration it looks exactly like abandonment? It is joy.
It follows that all 'simple' creatures (not us) do what they do, when going about their days, because of joy. Maybe not when the hawk circles overhead or the coyote stalks but the rest of the time. As for the coyote and hawk, their joy is pretty evident, too.
What have we humans lost? Or rather, forgotten?
'Joy' is a forgotten simplicity, not to be confused with ecstasy, or whoop-roaring hee-hawing FUNNNNN. It is no more than the robin perched against the sky.
So, I've been holding Thich Nhat Hahn's beautiful sentence in my mind often; 'cultivating' joy, especially, it is such a promise.
What do you do to cultivate joy?
Charlotte Joko Beck (who I've been listening to lately) said: "Joy is 'what is', minus our opinion."
Gassho
I had some Audible.com credits to use, and got three of Thich Nhat Hahn's books, recordings of his teachings over the years. He is so gentle, and so loving, and these are his teachings in a nutshell. He said in one talk I listened to "how do you cultivate joy in your life? Joy is our natural state."
That stopped me in my tracks. Of course, I want joy. I hope and yearn for joy, like the rest of humanity, right? But joy has always been something that happened to me, not something I 'cultivated'. Joy sails in like grace and a blessing, it comes from outside this body and mind (not often enough). I wait for joy, I hope for joy, I look for it, and do things I sincerely hope will bring me joy. I watch joy through a glass darkly and pound on the glass, or at least droop against it tiredly in despair.
But wait. Joy is our natural state? It is a state of being that is already here? Where is it, then?
I've always loved birds, not just because they fly and sing and are colorful, but also for their simple post-reptilian directness. I don't remember when this happened, it was years and years ago, and I was alone and quiet and watching some starlings outside the window; they were swooping and lighting here and there, but most were on the ground busily poking their beaks into the newly mown lawn. I left myself for a moment and felt their joy. I came BACK to myself the next moment (with a bit of a shock) but this moment never left me. Why do birds zip and zing, light on tree branches, puff out their little chests and sing so without any obvious audience? What goes through their little brains as they poke their beaks into the shorn grass with such concentration it looks exactly like abandonment? It is joy.
It follows that all 'simple' creatures (not us) do what they do, when going about their days, because of joy. Maybe not when the hawk circles overhead or the coyote stalks but the rest of the time. As for the coyote and hawk, their joy is pretty evident, too.
What have we humans lost? Or rather, forgotten?
'Joy' is a forgotten simplicity, not to be confused with ecstasy, or whoop-roaring hee-hawing FUNNNNN. It is no more than the robin perched against the sky.
So, I've been holding Thich Nhat Hahn's beautiful sentence in my mind often; 'cultivating' joy, especially, it is such a promise.
What do you do to cultivate joy?
Charlotte Joko Beck (who I've been listening to lately) said: "Joy is 'what is', minus our opinion."
Gassho
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Maybe I am crazy, but I don't care.
Empty the dishwasher, have a cup of tea, reply to joyous questions. Eat my biscuit ration, go for a ride, take photos, feed my pet demons, smile at nothing in particular. Stroke a cat I don't have. Wonder what a butterfly is doing in my garden in 'winter', mostly it is an arising I don't avoid.
:clap:
If there is too much overwhelm from sadness then see the beauty and cultivate joy. Every person is beautiful in some sense. See the beauty in the sutras. See the beauty in the guru. In the sangha. In a wide river flowing. In the fire of a candle.
It's miraculous to be alive. Enjoy the world through your senses. Enjoy yourself.
Opinions can be a real downer, and often lately, I get sick of listening to mine. I get exasperated with their diarrheal insistence. Blah blah blah blah blah. What a waste of good mental energy.
Sometimes I catch myself being without opinions. Those moments are without exception joyful.
How about . . . . 'this is'. Doesn't that just sound nice? Eyes moving over the world, with nothing more than 'this is' arising.
Gassho