beyond joy

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It is useful to reflect on what happiness is. I talk about deeper forms of satisfaction that are associated with spiritual awakening and revelation. On a more relative level, now and then do you take time—real time—to contemplate what makes you happy? It is nice to have comfortable things, and it is nice to reach in the refrigerator and pull out something yummy any darn time you want, but that is pleasure, that is not happiness. What makes you happy? What contributes to your happiness? What takes away from your happiness?

When we contemplate these questions in a deep way, they can bring us back to our senses, back to our center, back to our heart, and back to our being. We can return to loving the simple things and appreciating them. We can notice that we are happiest when we are contributing to the welfare of someone else; being a positive or benevolent presence in someone else’s life is a great contributor to happiness.

Making ourselves comfortable at every second does not necessarily make us happy. This is what I have found when I have gone back to the mountains, which I do every year: there is a happiness that is an aspect of being. To be is itself happiness. Even beyond the bliss of pure being, what contributes to happiness, flourishing, love, and joy?

For a spiritual teacher, seeing the joy on a person’s face is wonderful. To witness someone take the next step in their own evolution—maybe it is a leap, maybe it is tiny—is a beautiful thing. There are things that contribute to happiness—ours and others’—and it is good to reflect on them and not assume we know. When we reflect, we can ask, Oh, how much of my energy, of my life force, am I putting into what makes me happy? Contemplate what contributes to your happiness. You might be surprised by some of the things you find.

~Adyashanti

funny thing this happiness thing……..are you getting what you want or finding joy?

inquiry for today~   remember into a happy day…….what can you create from there?

There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company,
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.

There is a thing in me still dreams of trees.
But let it go. Homesick for moderation,
Half the world’s artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him tell it.
Meanwhile I bend my heart toward lamentation
Where, as the times implore our true involvement,
The blades of every crisis point the way.

I would it were not so, but so it is.
Who ever made music of a mild day?

~Mary Oliver

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