Give Thanks and Hold Hope

My natural response-- our very, very human response-- is to turn away from what feels bad, undesirable, or wrong, to run as fast as possible from that which is painful and/or frightening.

I began to learn the experienced-in-real-life lessons of giving thanks for all, the lessons of joy in this very moment-- this specific, present moment-- as I learned to live with fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue. I still find my lessons there. I need to turn TOWARD this specific moment of my life, rather than to turn away.

That still includes running as appropriate. In this age we animals have the urge to run when running solves nothing. There comes a time to stop and notice.

I must embrace the reality of each present moment rather than to hate what exists now and pin my mind in some "better" past or future moment. I act from my experiences of the past and with predictions and expectations for the future, but I exist and act and actually experience life, have my power in life, in this present moment, however it is.

That's what's wrong with Emily Dickinson's "Hope is the thing with feathers," from my view: it exist as a “better tomorrow” voice. (Others interpret her differently; perhaps I misunderstand Emily.) That "better tomorrow" version of hope splits time, it's a kind of hope that puts us into some future "better"moment instead of helping us to rest safe and accepting in the moment we have.

The much stronger stance, I find, is to give thanks for what is, to find joy in exactly what I have,"bad" things included. I have pain. I have fatigue. I have fear. I have breath and pulse and consciousness. I am part of life. I also have a comfortable bed. I also have clean, cold and hot running water, as much as I want (when the electrical grid works). I also have clothes. I also have ... The list goes on and on and on.

I contemplated my sort of resentful feeling about hope, then wrote for myself:

Hold hope as a sense of "all is well, all is well, all manner of things shall be well."
Hold hope as resting in the moment.
Hold hope as profound acceptance of the ongoing-ness of life.