It’s Good to Be Here

It’s good to be here. This was the theme running through the words I shared at open jam at our local brewery on Tuesday night. It’s good to be there, with musicians and listeners, fellow seekers, some conversing, others having a beer. All came out on a cold night so they could be there. I appreciate that. I appreciate them, my friends who came to listen, the stage I have the opportunity to take for a few minutes.  The unexpected hug that I received as I returned to my seat.

It’s good to be here. Taking up space. Important space. It’s good to be here, breathing air. Important air. One of my poems ends with the line “We are but tiny specks in a timeless history, yet we each matter immeasurably.” Tiny specks. Worthy specks. Some will wake up to their last day today. Others will be born to their first day. It’s good to be here, part of it all. 

It’s good to be here, even when it’s hard to be here at this time in our collective existence. Challenging times for so many and uncertainty for us all. But that is always true, has always been true, at any point in our human history–challenges and uncertainty. There’s just many more of us sharing in it now than thousands of years ago. 

It’s good to be here, even when it is uncomfortable. Discomfort can lead to action or apathy. I am seeing plenty of hopeful actions and trying to take some myself. Will my hopeful actions matter? Will yours? I firmly believe that they will and they do. 

So I arrive back at “it’s good to be here.” I have been listening to an intention-setting challenge for the month of January on Insight Timer.  From today’s meditation track about hope, I gathered these important words about what hope is:  

quiet courage to stay open 

A hopeful person isn’t bypassing reality, they are opening wider to it.

This is how I wrapped up my time on stage the other evening:

It’s good to be here, with my light and your light. The light of hope. And this poem from Emily Dickinson.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops - at all

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm

I’ve heard it in the chillest land

And on the strangest Sea

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all.” It’s good to be here, with you, with hope and light, breathing and all. You being here. Us being here. It’s a good thing. Thank you!