Today dawns slowly and I am brushing up on my Wordsworth in preparation for our visit to Dove Cottage and Rydal Mount, two beloved homes of the great romantic poet William Wordsworth. Wordsworth knew joy. And grief, and longing, sadness and utter delight. He lived and felt and expressed the emotions and circumstances of his own life. I was struck by his working definition of poetry; “the spontaneous overflow of emotion recollected in tranquility”. This could be the very definition of my journaling. My journaling, indeed began with poetry. The poetry was my first inkling of the voice of the Holy Spirit, aka Love/ my true heart/ our Oneness. This voice lives within each one of us and it seems to be our life mission to connect in awareness and trust to this Voice/Energy/Presence that is within. Religions show the way, spiritual and artistic practice allow a flow of divine expression and the love of our fellow man is the unexpected treasure we gain from listening to and practicing this Presence.
Today, let the natural nature of your joy flow forth unimpeded by fear, annoyance or busyness. Stop for a moment now and take a few deep breaths and notice that beautiful presence within you, that full flow of life, and give thanks. Ask how it would like to be expressed today. Breathe in life, express and extend love.
Wordsworth also gives his famous definition of poetry as “the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility,” and calls his own poems in the book “experimental”.”
Open the gate to joy!
SURPRISED BY JOY
Surprised by joy — impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport — Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind —
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss? — That thought’s return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
1815.—–William Wordsworth
