You are forgetting how to move to the music of your soul. You can hardly even hear that inner music over the clamor of all your obligations.
~ Mirabai Starr
As a gate opens to the new year, three words beckon: Live life fully. My aging self urges, “Don’t waste a year on the foolishness of needless concern or any attempt to control the uncontrollable. Be attentive to every fragment of joy, each revelation of nature’s splendor however small, and to the integrity residing in people who touch your life.”
An expression of St. Irenaeus of Lyons has been passed down through the ages: “The glory of God is a human being fully alive.” I have cherished that notion of engaging life with enthusiasm. Unfortunately, I have often set this conviction aside, becoming lost in too much work or in absorbing situations requiring acceptance rather than useless worry.
That is why I recommit myself this year to engage as totally as I can with the life I have been given, to use my physical senses—these guests of my body—to welcome and explore what comes my way. When I am in tune with what I see, hear, taste, touch, and smell, an amazing amount of joy comes into view. This is when I can honestly say, “I love life.”
I also recommit to relishing my mind and cherishing my spirit, to pause instead of push, to draw back and take a second look instead of crashing automatically into the jungle of activity. When I allow myself to be deliberately alert to what is in the present, I establish an awakened receptivity, an increased ability to stay grounded in my core integrity.
Recommitment to living fully fires up the rusty spark plugs of my attitude. It changes the let’s-just-get-it-done approach into one of there’s-so-much-to-discover-and-enjoy. Then I am able to start the engines of my work with eager enthusiasm instead of poky resignation.
After thirty-seven-year-old brain scientist Jill Bolte Taylor recovered from an initially debilitating stroke, she reflected on her experience in My Stroke of Insight: “I view the garden in my mind as a sacred patch of cosmic real estate that the universe has entrusted to me to tend over the years of my lifetime.” After I read Taylor’s book, I pondered what I had done with the brain entrusted to me for a lifetime. This led me to gratitude for what this part of my physical self is able to do. Before this reflection, I took for granted that my brain worked. Now, I marvel at being able to think, make choices and decisions, investigate and be intrigued with fresh information, and make connections that come together in a way that brings purpose and meaning. And how wonderful it is that my brain automatically knows what to do with the 86 billion neurons stored in my body, how it keeps everything functioning as intended.
The Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore believed that “a stream of life” ran through his veins and that this flow of life resonated throughout all of creation. Whenever I read Tagore’s poems and essays I marvel at how he fully engaged with life. In a letter to a friend at year’s end, Tagore wrote:
The year ‘99 would never come twice in my life. . . . I often think how each day a new day dawns—some steeped in hues of the rising or setting sun . . . the shimmering blue of reflecting clouds; some cheerful-like white flowers in the light of the full moon—how very fortunate I am! . . . When I ponder over this possibility, a desire grows in me to look closely at the world again: to consciously greet each sunrise in my life and say goodbye to each sunset like I would to a good friend. . . . Why can’t I gather all those enchanting days and nights that are vanishing from my life . . . this 7 Live Life Fully peace and grace filling up the empty spaces between heaven and earth . . . ?
Sometimes we only awaken to the fullness of our life when we experience a severe loss—a part of our physical self, such as eyesight; the devastation of a basic material necessity; some part of the natural environment we’ve treasured; or the havoc wreaked in a human relationship. One year I was rendered speechless. Literally. A week before a conference where I was scheduled to speak all day, I could not utter a word. A sinus infection had led to a severe case of laryngitis. My physician warned, “Don’t use your voice. Save it for the conference. Do not even whisper.” All week long I kept still. It was only when I lost my ability to speak that I recognized the preciousness of having a voice. On each day of my body’s imposed silence, I thought of how I had never given a second thought to possessing that precious gift of being able to speak.
On the other hand, when we have learned to live with zest, to experience life with a wide-open attentiveness, we can continue to live this way even during our final days of life. I often marveled at my friend Jeanne’s vibrant spirit. She radiated an eagerness to be involved and learn from whatever she could. When Jeanne was nearing her death, she smiled at me and whispered how much joy she found in listening to the first birdsong at dawn. I thought, Even now she is greeting what enlivens her spirit.
But why wait for loss or misfortune to rouse us from our lethargy? Let’s not lose something in order for us to appreciate it. We can start to live more fully by listening, really listening, to both our interior and exterior world. As philosopher and nature writer Kathleen Dean Moore states in Holdfast, “We must love life before loving its meaning, as Dostoyevsky told us. We must love life, and some meaning may grow from that love. But if love of life disappears, no meaning can console us.”
This new year beckons us to be persons fully alive with the glory of divinity. Are we ready to love life and step wholeheartedly into what awaits us?
This excerpt from Return to the Root: Reflections on the Inner Life is reprinted with permission of Ave Maria Press.
Joyce Rupp is well known for her work as a writer, spiritual midwife, international retreat leader, and conference speaker. She serves as director of the Boundless Compassion program. Joyce is the author of numerous bestselling and award-winning books, including Praying Our Goodbyes, Open the Door, Fragments of Your Ancient Name, and Jesus, Friend of My Soul. Rupp is a member of the Servite (Servants of Mary) community.
