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Some days Memories are As it nears So when the Sure things Rumi called So feel your Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Some days the sadness comes, whispering into the fragrance of the day, dyeing it just enough with blue so that your heart catches, and tears rise. Happiness can sneak up on you too. Some days you wake up, it might be in the middle of a dark winter, but you find yourself inexplicably happy. Memories […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[11,2],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/265"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=265"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/265\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=265"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=265"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=265"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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\nthe sadness comes, whispering into the fragrance of the day, dyeing it just enough with
\nblue so that your heart catches, and tears rise.
\nHappiness can sneak up on you too.
\nSome days you wake up, it might be in the middle of a dark winter, but
\nyou find yourself inexplicably happy.
\nattached to cycles in the seasons and the weather. Some days the autumn wind carries a memory
\nscented with sorrow that arrives when the air is cool, brisk, and full of rain. Other times memories of happiness bloom in the
\nheart and suddenly everything is spring.
\nthe first anniversary of my mother\u2019s death I remember her taking me to my first
\nguitar lessons when I was in second grade.
\nI remember how she brought me to the creek after the lessons, and let me
\nlift my pant legs and take off my shoes and socks, and wade in the water to
\nlook for crawfish, turtles, and salamanders.
\nThis memory snagged my heart like a fish hook a few days ago. It reeled me back and back until it landed me
\nin a net of sorrow and gratitude, and I wept like a baby.
\nsadness comes, I needn\u2019t ask why. I
\nnever ask myself why I\u2019m happy. I just
\nfeel happy. Why not do the same with
\nsadness? Or anger? Why do some feelings pine for
\njustification? Certainly some are more
\ncomfortable to feel than others. But the
\nhuman experience is a mingling of many emotions, each with its own fragrance,
\nsensation, color, and yes, reason. Since
\nthey are ephemeral in nature however, it is nearly useless to try and figure
\nout why we\u2019re feeling whatever it is we\u2019re feeling. Instead of teaching children to think out why
\nthey\u2019re feeling something, why not teach them to feel what they\u2019re feeling and
\nnot react in harmful ways to the uncomfortable ones (or to the happy ones for that
\nmatter)?
\nneed to get talked through, but feelings are like spirits. They come when they come. They go when they go. They probably have their mysterious plans and
\nreasons for appearing in the blurred edges of your vision, but they might just be
\npassing through on their way to another soul.
\n
\nfeelings guests. He encouraged us to welcome
\nthem in, letting them stay awhile knowing that they\u2019d be moving on soon
\nenough. I like his idea and add this one
\nof my own: Bless them. Thank them.
\nBless them all. Thank them
\nall. If you\u2019re feeling something you
\nhave a pulse. You have hope\u2014no matter
\nwhat the feeling. If you\u2019re emoting,
\nthen just be with your feelings as if you were with a friend or a moving piece
\nof music. Listen to them as if they were
\nsenior citizens or young children. They
\nhave stories to tell. They won\u2019t
\ntell you why they exist\u2014but they will just give you glimpses into their hearts,
\ninto their histories with the wind, the stars, the darkness, and the
\nlight. They will offer you hints into
\nyourself as long as you approach those hints as if you would a deer or a heron. Celebrate them. Lavish them with praise. Be in wonder.
\nThey are gifts of the season, the day, the moment, the food you ate, the
\nair you breathe, the things you\u2019ve done or didn\u2019t do, the things that happened to
\nyou, or didn\u2019t happen; they are fireflies; they are the feathers of owls after
\nthe owl lifts and banks into the marsh.
\nMostly they will open you. They
\nwill open the windows of your heart and pour in life. They will reveal you to yourself in that precise
\nmoment in time, and then disappear with the winter wind.
\nfeelings. Be with them in your
\nbody. Move with them (e-motion). And give thanks for being alive.<\/font><\/p>\n\n<\/p>\n