On Joy

 Prelude: I have to admit that I am nervous to post this.  I worry that it is lame, cheesy, and too “mushy” for a blog.  Well, maybe it is, oh well.  Here goes week one of Yogi Advent: Joy.

Joy has challenged me much more than I anticipated.  At first, I couldn’t narrow my concept of joy.  Everything seemed to bring a smile to my face: sunshine, 3-year-olds graduating to the “big girl swing,” phone conversations with friends, mid-morning coffee, Christmas lights and paper snowflakes in my window (see the picture below).  The more I thought about joy, however, I kept circling back to the many moments that have not been so joyful.   I thought about the inevitable lows in the middle of workweeks at the office, the stressful moments between the blissful bubble of Ann Arbor and “the real world,” and the grief of loss.  

 

Memory makes me think that joy was easier once.  I was so joyful as a little kid in elementary with nothing to worry about, so joyful  graduating from high school and starting undergrad with only possibilities ahead.  Have I lost my knack for joy?  But I know my memory is dishonest.  I cram the sorrows into a tiny box and give ample space to the laughter and joy.  Every time of my life has held both joy and sorrow.  My friend Robbie sent a poem by Khalil Gibran this week about the balance of joy and sorrow, and I’d like to share it here.

Joy and Sorrow Chapter VIII

By Khalil Gibran

Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."

And he answered:

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."

But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.

Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.

When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

Thank you so much Robbie.  I am still learning to embrace my sorrows as deeply as my joys.  Or maybe I need to re-frame my concept of sorrow all together.  I think the balance of joy and sorrow is more real than a fantasy of finding perpetual joy (which for some reason I always desired…where ever did I get this idea of a static “happily ever after”?). 

I love this excerpt from a novel by Terry Tempest Williams: “…we hold the moon in our bellies.  It is too much to ask to operate on full moon energy three-hundred and sixty-five days a year.”  Part of me wishes I could experience the glow of a full moon’s joy every day:  I want to laugh, smile, and entertain friends all of the time.  But this joy would be empty without understanding the quiet darkness of a new moon night.

As my joys and sorrows wane and wax, I still want to take a moment to celebrate pure joy here in this post.  I loved the quote from Jose, that joy is what makes our hearts fully alive.  I found that one of the things that makes my heart most alive is singing (just like my Grandma Lois singing “I’ve got joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart J).  So I will conclude with lessons of joy that I have learned from singing: 

1. Open.  I open my mouth, my throat, and my lungs to let in the air and also let out my song.  I am as open as a child who has not yet learned self-consciousness, fearless of any judgment from listeners or self-criticism.  The song opens my heart and lifts my emotions into the world.  This openness brings me joy.
2. Create. I can create beauty with the air I breathe, the power in my belly, and the stream of my melody.  It is empowering to turn my emotions into bouncy love songs, reverent hymns, and jazzy ballads.  Sometimes I like to hum aimlessly without lyric or rhythm, just to release.  Feeling my own creation resonate through my body also brings me joy.
3. Share.  When others join my song it is like a relationship, we listen and we compromise.  We combine the rich low tones and floating high notes with the juicy inner harmonies.  And we connect.  My yoga teacher, Jasprit, taught the concept of Ik onkar, oneness.  To me, Ik onkar realizes the connection of all atoms, every object, and every form of life.  And it celebrates the connection between every person: we all have fear and love that we need to express.  Singing together expresses this oneness.  The connection as voices sing in harmony, the shared openness, and the combination of many voices in one song, is one of my greatest joys.

I am continuing my Yogi Advent and this week I am focusing on Hope and Optimism.  Thank you so much to everyone who offered their thoughts on joy during this past week. Please continue to share your quotes, poems, songs, and experiences of hope this week; it is so wonderful to hear from all of you.

With love,

Codi