Uplifting Joy



Start unknowingly.
Look, show up.
Engage.

Know transcendence is possible.
Surrender to the moment.
Accept exhilaration.

Understand without speaking,
without language.
Allow the spirit of St. Andrews
to rush in
and claim you 
in a gesture where 
time and space marry
and ask you to join, 
here, now.

No shadow falls
between the impulse and the action.

Joy lives here on this bridge 
 waiting 
for denizens of the world 
to clamor upon it
and let magic manifest.

Always say yes.

___________________________

     The title of this poem could also quite possible be Serendipity meets Joy!  Because this moment was not orchestrated.  It was a Friday night, my first in St. Andrews.  The nearby Firth of Forth was calm, and the sun had not yet begun to set.  A handful of people strolled about the 1st and 18th holes at St. Andrews, among them, Ursula herself.  

     The famous Swilcan Bridge sat in the distance, known the world over to golfers.  Its location and  setting were renowned for a photograph at the Home of Golf.

     As I strolled and ambled about, post a lovely Scottish brew at the pub nearby, a group of lads near the bridge beckoned me over.  

     "Would you take our picture? they asked enthusiastically.  

     "Sure," I replied, and did so.  I think they were footballers from Norway. Big, sturdy, strong guys enjoying their holiday.  

     They came down off the bridge and said,  "Well, don't you want your picture taken too?"  

     "OK, great," I replied, handing them my phone camera and walked onto the bridge.

     In a flash, four of the five lads surrounded me, lining up for the picture.  I felt myself being lifted straight up weightlessly by the lad on my right.

 Effortlessly, he hefted me into the air as I squealed, giggled and squirmed.  Gravity fell away and I became a feather.  From whence came this lightning-like unscripted moment? 

     It was full of serendipity, joy and uplifting emotion.  I will never, ever forget it. 

 Then, the lads, all as happy and giggly as they could be, disappeared as quickly as they had beckoned me...into the spirit of St. Andrews, carried by some lightness of being that was borne of an encounter with another stroller of the earth, at the Swilcan Bridge, that September eve.

Be sure to look for bridges, always,

Strolling Ursula

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Thoughts

Image
Thoughts,  floating like leaves to an autumn yard dance their patterns upon my mind. An uncaring wind sweeps them away as soon as they land making their impact brief  and their destination unknown. A path, cleared for winter hosts blanketed silence.   Thoughts, prance along, staying ahead of their destiny, for a time. The seasons of our mind   resist each other.   Where do the thoughts go? Can spring resurrect them? Are they the same thoughts  lying buried all winter? Will summer provide any hope? Will vigilance make a difference?   Are thoughts accruing somewhere  in the mind's seasons, awaiting presentation? How deep can one look? Do thoughts disappear,  or hibernate  like grizzly bears? An earth embraces change and a mind does the same. Maybe this is   a return and remembrance  of something,  never really lost, at all. The wind blows softly,  the leaves fall, winter sets in,  and soon spring buffets all about. Summer's sun shines  its rays  into the corners and crevices of o
Read more

In the Burren Trees

Image
  There I walked without surety,  not thinking or knowing, only moving through the trees, quietly  walking towards the sunlight shards. Drawn only by  the light, something about the light, muted, one or two dimensions removed. I strolled deeper into this Burren stand of trees,  now blending with the presence, joining and confirming, I know not what. The beckoning surrounded me and A shimmering, a million light beings smiled and laughed, seemingly happy that I dare look,  not using my eyes. Gifted, once again, by ancient aliveness, always present, awaiting invitation. All shimmer and light, all total bliss. A world of brilliance, lightning-like, flashed, and the pierced veil fell away. Such brilliance waits for affirmation and the invitations are few. Look, invite, confirm and accept and know from your soul depths,  you are not alone. The light always beckons. Hold dearly this rare gift, encountered in a leafed tree alcove  on an island of rock in an ocean  thousands of miles from home.
Read more

Swimming with Doves

Image
Coo. Coo. Calmly the doves do.  I see and hear them, I coo. Another appears on the branch  just above my swimming pool, looking down at me. Now, another and another  until there are four. Of what interest am I to them? How different is swimming than flying, I wonder?  Both involve arms and wings,  and a certain lightness  of being held by air, by water. Coo, coo in answer,  emanates from the doves.  I coo. They are silent.  I expect another coo,  but none comes. They recognize through observation, but do not act on that recognition  in any way. Is this their morning's entertainment? Patiently they perch, observing me in this foreign land of water. I swim. Coo! It's over. I disappear before they do. I retreat behind my sliding glass door  and peek out at them, still on the branches. My unfounded expectation is that they  might dive into the water. Instead, they flutter away into the morning blue sky with no discernible emotion. Water, sky, wings, birds, arms, humans. Another gif
Read more