Focusing on Joy — with Startling Effects

Strange things happen when you do one of Satya Robyn's courses! They are quite low-key in the way they're presented — one reason I like them; I so hate gung-ho. They are gentle, seemingly undemanding. The daily emails are wise in a down-to-earth kind of way, with beautiful quotations and illustrations. They are easy to digest, non-threatening. Yet the effects are profound.

The one I am doing this month is about joy. We are encouraged to examine it in various ways, which include noticing what gets in the way of it. Simple practices are suggested. I am only doing two: writing a daily 'small stone' about something that gives me joy if only for a moment, and going for a walk in nature each day. The latter is not difficult where I live, but it's nice to do it mindfully, paying attention.

I think the bits of writing I'm doing are nothing earth-shattering. They are not great literature, and reveal no unusual insights. I post them to my blog and facebook writer's page anyway, but I have been wondering why I bother.

Then yesterday, sitting in the writers' group I have been facilitating with great pleasure for the last seven years, it dawned on me that I have come to the end of that. This is momentous; it has been a huge part of my life. I said nothing, came home and thought about it — only briefly before I noticed how alive the idea of moving on made me feel. I'm ready to embrace the unknown. 

It's not that there's anything wrong with the group; it's great! It's just that my time as facilitator has completed itself. Even good things come to an end. It's not a disaster in any way. Several possible replacements for me are showing up, and I expect to remain friends with people in the group. I am also looking forward to more time for my own writing, and to having freedom from the responsibilities my role has involved. They weren't arduous, in fact were enjoyable, but they were a tie. It seems I'm lightening up. I talk about my decision, and my friends say, 'Well, you sound very happy about it.'

I don't quite know how Satya's course helped precipitate this. Perhaps just by having me pay attention to joy, to how it operates in my life. I suspect the decision has been percolating away subconsciously for some time; the course didn't cause it. But, in heightening my awareness, it did enable me to become conscious of what shape joy might take for me now.

What do you live for? What gets you out of bed each day, gives your life meaning, stops you from killing yourself?

What do I live for? Poetry, I would have to say, now that I am living alone and no longer live for my relationship. Poetry has been the thing practically all my life really, the thing that has gone on alongside the relationships, alongside the adventures and joys, and problems and failures, and all the whole conglomeration we call life. It's the constant. 

It probably keeps me from killing myself — not that I am suicidal, but maybe I would be if I didn't have poetry. As it is, if something causes angst, I am liable to start writing about it instead of going for the razor blades or sleeping tablets. 

Poetry. Reading wonderful poems by other people, yes; and also making poetry, the thing I have given my life to. I live for poetry because it has given life to me. Well, in a way.  I suppose that sounds grandiloquent, and also anatomically ridiculous. Nevertheless. 

I can't imagine life without poetry in it. What do people do, I ask my fellow poets in times of grief or stress — people who haven't got poetry? How do they cope? 

Other joys get me out of bed. The cats, a sunny day, a visit from friends... But poetry is the great essential that is always fresh, never boring or tiring — not to me (and what it does to others is none of my concern).

It is the crown on life, the meaning to it, the approach to God.

This post is part of an online event to celebrate the re-launch of Fiona Robyn's writing career under her new name, Satya Robyn.