“Choose joy,” they said.

But how can I choose joy when all this is happening?

“It will happen with or without you,” I heard.

Then I heard the question: “In this moment, are you well? Safe? Secure?”

I am, answered I.

“Choose joy.”

But … there are so many with less, so many hurting, fighting, shouting, screaming, blowing things up and tearing things down.

“When they cross your path,” I heard, “you’ll know what to do.”

I’m gently letting myself off  the hook for the state of the entire planet. I am not, however, letting myself off the hook, gently or otherwise, for the state of my own experience. I realize that the world “out there” mirrors what’s going on in my stressed heart, my tired soul, my overly-worried brain.

This I can, must control.

“Choose joy.”

In order to do this, I must set the ego aside, the need to be right, to be heard, to matter.

I listen.

I look out the window, watching the muhly grass rustle in the slight breeze, near the succulent garden growing without thought to what the other plants are doing, not a care.

The knot in my stomach begins to loosen and let go. The frantic concern over what to do next ebbs. My heart slows down just a bit, enough to hear the break of silence.

Joy might still be elusive, but at the very least in this moment is seems … possible.

Choose joy.

Turn the rest off.

When the world next crosses your path, you’ll know what to do.