Month: March 2019

This Place

It’s all so much easier when we are on vacation. Right??? I think maybe because our week in Big Bend was so in tune, this week by contrast felt like a disaster. It wasn’t, but that sure didn’t keep me from feeling like it was. The truth is that it was a mixed bag, just like just about every other week in life. There was some not so fun stuff, some o.k. stuff, some comical stuff, some infuriating stuff, some good stuff, and even some great stuff. Yet my state of being was brutal regardless of any of it. My best guess is that I finally crashed into the full realization that this phase of my life is ending. We are moving on. While that is super exciting, there is also a mourning that will have to take place… which I have been avoiding.

But with spring break having come and gone, the mad dash is now on. We are down to two months. There is not only an overwhelming amount of work and details that we need to take care of, there is also all of the emotions that are going to express themselves by hook or by crook. I found myself this week not even being able to deal with my self. So I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, got quiet, did a lot of self care (new skill!), and didn’t give myself a hard time about anything. Basically, I just gave myself space to be a mess. Internally anyway. Nobody who encountered me this week would have known I was a mess, with the sole exception of Shannon. And even at that, I tend to want to go through these moments alone and this week was no exception. I just need to sit with myself.

So let’s see, what can I tell you after a week of sitting with myself? The first thing I can say for sure is that my state of being definitely determines how I experience life. For example, on Monday something that should have been cause for joy and celebration barely moved me at all. As the week wore on this remained true although by simply being a witness to the phenomenon, I was at least able to register the good stuff like positive feedback, music that moves me, and a beautiful day. I have to say that the moment that began to break the ice came unexpectedly mid week. I had forgotten that a few of my professional colleagues were coming to campus for a Women in Architecture event that I was also supposed to take part in. I was reminded of the fact by the student organizer a half hour before the event was set to start.

It was a speed meeting sort of thing for our female students to meet as many female architects as possible- which is awesome. The plan in my head prior to this realization was to get the heck out of dodge as soon as studio was over and go home for some self care. I was dealing with the change in plan o.k., even though it required me to ignore the fact that I was not feeling well physically. As I headed to the event, two of my colleagues were already there and the other arrived shortly afterward. Now here is the important thing to know about this- these aren’t just three colleagues, they are actually three very close friends. One of them was my classmate at Princeton and my roommate during grad school. Two others have been our partners in crime on the green scene in Houston for many years, and our relationships transcended professional bounds a long time ago. All three are people who know me very well and have supported me in all ways. I didn’t let on to them that I was a mess either. We just chatted as normal prior to the start of the event. Then it turned out that the event didn’t need me because we had gotten enough outside architects to talk to our students- which was great. Without a single moment of hesitation, I decided to head home for that self care. I said my goodbyes to each of them and was off.

It wasn’t until I was driving away that I realized that just seeing the three of them had made a difference. A pang of sadness hit me that I wouldn’t be hanging out with them, catching up, definitely laughing, and maybe even going to a spontaneous dinner later. Of course the pang was intensified by the realization that we will soon live 2,000 miles away and doing such things are suddenly not quite so easy. But you know what? I just let it be. The truth was, I needed the self care. And instead of being sad about it, I was happy just for the opportunity to unexpectedly be in their presence even if for only a moment. Just that one moment made me realize that I am in no way alone in the world. In fact, I am surrounded by an abundance of people who love me, even when they may not be in my presence or in my awareness. It also brought to my attention that we will need to make space to spend time with friends before we go! That hadn’t even registered on our massive to do list yet.

Thank God the end of the week has been beautiful here, because you know something else- beautiful days just help. The Universe was so kind to me that It actually locked me out of my classroom yesterday, forcing me to take my class outside. How awesome is that?! I always loved it when a professor would take us outside on a perfect spring day. It was just what the doctor ordered. As for today, I mixed a little self care with some of that to do list. I don’t teach on Fridays, but instead use them to catch up on my professional work. I had an unusual opening in my schedule this week though, so I decided I was going to dive into our yard work and enjoy the beautiful weather in the process. We have put a ton of tender loving care (aka work) into this house, yard included. But not having spent summers here for the past five years, it had gone almost completely wild (seriously) and we have been slowly working to tame it.

This is another one of those emotional goodbye moments for me, because our yard was our big permaculture project of nine years ago. We transformed the front yard into organic shaped beds to grow our veggies, installed a drip irrigation system, and planted numerous fruit trees: satsuma, meyer lemon, star fruit, fig, papaya (long gone), and another that hasn’t produced anything so I can’t even remember what it is. The above photo is what it looked like right after we finished the initial install. The back yard has a spiral herb garden, a banana grove, peach trees, and a grapefruit tree. One of the peach trees is right outside of our kitchen window and is always gorgeous. We are hoping the peaches make it in time for us to enjoy them one more time. The rest of the back yard is xeriscaped with rocks. Shannon built the coolest trellis structures, one to support vines right outside our master bath, and the other to provide cover over the deck off of the master bedroom, which I imagine one day might support grape vines. It is all still a work in progress as we are moving toward at least somewhat completing the vision.

What I hope is that the future owners of this home thoroughly enjoy all of the love that we have put into it. I hope they love taking baths surrounded by vines outside the picture windows. I hope they love their feet being massaged by the rocks that form the floor of our walk in shower. I hope the kitchen- cabinetry, finishes, appliances and all- enriches their everyday lives. I hope they love the wood floors throughout, especially since we had to replace them twice! I certainly hope they appreciate their lower energy bills thanks to the high performance systems we have installed, not to mention me making Shannon crawl on her knees for days as she sealed the sill plate to the foundation. She seriously thought I was nuts… at the time. I would love for the new owners to continue using the meditation room as such, but that is too much to ask. Putting as much as we have into this house was never the smart thing to do. Any financial advisor would have strongly discouraged what we have done. But I just can’t. I can’t be with a place and not do everything within my creative powers to make it the best place it can be. If we aren’t here to make the world a more beautiful place, then what on earth are we doing???

I knew when we started all of this work that this day would come. I actually thought it would come sooner than it did. For me, it was an act of love from the get go. I knew that as much as we were doing it all for us, we were doing it for the next family that will live here. This house has seen its share of troubles. It has not just been an act of physically transforming it, but also energetically transforming it. The latter has been harder. I would swear that the three (yes 3), internal flooding incidents that this house has had in the past 12 years were it doing my crying for me. So as you might imagine by now, I have regarded the transformation of my self to be one with that of my house. That we will be passing this on a happy place is testament to what is possible and what is still yet to come. There is a whole world out there. But we will only ever transform it one place, one heart, at a time.

Abnoba in Big Bend

I didn’t come to want to be an architect in the usual way. It wasn’t about slick modern buildings, The Fountainhead, or even any of the timeless architectural masterpieces of our civilization. I didn’t discover architecture in a city, even though I grew up in one and became passionately dedicated to understanding and evolving our predominant settlement pattern. In fact, long before I set my sights on becoming an architect, the very first thing that I ever wanted to be was a Park Ranger. Want proof? Here you go:

That’s me in the Ranger’s hat on the right. This was taken at Yellowstone circa 1978 ish. As you can see, I’m ready to take on the world. It’s a good thing, because I’m needing that moxie right about now.

I discovered architecture before I even realized that I had discovered it… in another national park. My profession might mistakenly consider it more artifact than architecture, but the epitome of architecture for me is represented by Mesa Verde. When I first visited Mesa Verde- around the same age as the above photo- I was instantly mesmerized. What touched me deeply was this sense of humans being at home in the world, of the possibility of building a home that was fully integrated with nature. This is what inspired me to become an architect. Never seen it? Here is a photo I took about ten years ago:

I’ve been chasing the dream of Mesa Verde for what feels like a long time now. It is a difficult challenge for a culture and a settlement pattern (the city) that is so very removed from nature. While I’ve spent nearly 50 years growing up in, studying, and working on what our Vermont friends call “The Belly of the Beast” (aka Houston), my home has always been elsewhere. I come by it naturally. My grandfather on my father’s side was a mountain guide in the Colorado Rockies in his younger years. He passed his love of the mountains along to my father. Meanwhile my mother’s family loved the lakes of Minnesota and so they spent their summers in a little cabin on Martin Lake just north of her hometown of St. Paul. As for us, we spent our summers camping mostly near Durango, Colorado, but clearly visiting various parks throughout the country.

These days I find my home in my wife’s home state of Vermont. Perhaps not surprisingly, we have nested a home in the mountains and a home on the lake. I know my grandpas Roy and Sox are looking down smiling the biggest smiles. They would so love these places that I get to call home. Soon they will be home permanently. We couldn’t leave Texas, however, without visiting one of the most phenomenal national parks in the country- Big Bend.

So as I was saying, I am a mountain, forest and lake sort of person. Deserts- not so much. Same for Shannon. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. Seven hikes combined for 22 miles and several scenic drives later I can say expect the unexpected. Every single hike was completely different from the other. Each landscape was surreal in its own unique way. It brought me back to this deep sense of how sacred this planet we call home really is. If you haven’t noticed in awhile, slow down and take a look. Please. I’m asking nicely. In Big Bend the wind roars its command while the rain, when it comes, pitter patters the gentle reminder that it has not forsaken us.

Species upon species have called this place home, humans included. Many are extinct. For now I am convinced that only a few roadrunners, two deer, and one jackrabbit (who we saw four times) live there. Big Bend is a reminder that the fate of a place can change radically, from sea to wetland to volcano to mountain to desert. Transformation is the law.

It will be impossible for us to find our home in the world again if we don’t get back in touch with it first. That is why it is so incredibly important to get out into nature. Not to mention, it’s humbling. I have a case in point for your entertainment. On the fourth day we were tired from the previous three days of hiking and therefore decided to take the scenic drive out to the adjacent State Park. There was a short hike called Closed Canyon that we were interested in seeing to boot. The drive and the hike were well worth it. Breathtaking! We had not paid enough attention to the map before we started the hike though. I had mistakenly thought that the hike through this canyon would land us at the Rio Grande at the other end (it wouldn’t). Then all of a sudden we ran into a pool of murky water with a steep slope on one side and a slippery slope on the other. It was an impasse that we had not anticipated.

We joined a rock climbing gym last fall and have enjoyed bouldering, although we are quite the novices and haven’t taken any lessons. Mostly, we just marvel at other people gracefully moving across the wall as if they are lovingly slow dancing with the “rock.” That’s what being at home in nature should look like- a dance. But when I am bouldering, it feels more like a fight for survival! In the gym it doesn’t bother me because there is a mat underneath and I am quite adept at falling onto mats from certain heights. Shannon was intrigued enough by the situation before us that she decided to put her new bouldering skills to the test. It would require climbing in a sideways direction with the first section looking something like a V9 at the gym. In other words, it really was just a slippery slope with not much to hold onto. Mind you, we are still struggling with the V3’s. But if you could make it past that first little section then it looked much easier. There were things to hold onto. Shannon made it across with flying colors. She made it look easy even. I told her to go scope out the next section to see if this was just an anomaly in the trail. She did and reported back that there was no more water and it appeared to go on. She came back across with equal ease.

I, however, was honestly terrified. It wasn’t that the fall was any further than at the gym. It was that there was murky water at the bottom that I imagined a snake might be living in (which may have in and of itself been irrational). I might also mention that I am a good deal shorter than Shannon and therefore don’t have as much reach. I almost walked away, but then was so disappointed to not get to the Rio Grande that I made myself give it a try. Shannon stood on the crevice under me to help support me through the tough section. I made it across! Not gracefully, mind you, but I made it. Then we took the few steps forward to the next drop off that Shannon had scoped out. I immediately saw that there was no way in hell that we would be able to get back up the next drop if we went down… nothing but slippery slope. Then looking further around the corner I saw that there was another drop into a waterway that Shannon hadn’t seen. We were, in fact, at the end of the trail (which had we bothered to fully read the map at the beginning of the trail we would have realized). Well, chalk it up to our first real bouldering experience in nature (although I had vowed I would never do such a thing). Now there was nothing to do but go back.

That’s when the problem set in. Shannon went first and had no problem. I, on the other hand, well… how should I put this. Let me just describe the scene. Imagine me sprawled out in an x position on my belly facing a steep, slippery rock with Shannon scrambling to get back under me as I am slowly sliding down the rock. She yells out “Get a grip!” O.K., well, she didn’t actually say that. She said “find your grip.” But she might just as well have said the former. In a full fledged panic, and I do mean complete out of control I am going to die panic, I yelled back “I don’t have a grip!!!!!” That much was obvious I suppose. Fortunately, she got her own footing in time to catch me and not go sliding down herself. She was then able to support me- freaked out as I was- through the rest of it. While my life wasn’t in any real danger, feeling like it was in that moment reminded me how tenuous life is. Vulnerability is a powerful teacher. And sometimes, quite the comedian. We’ll be laughing about this for the rest of our lives. I don’t reveal this often, but there is a tender reality in the heart of this prickly pear.

On another day we drove out to Terlingua, the tiny knock about town just outside of the park. There is a ghost town there that just happens to have 58 residents, go figure, and a coffee shop (thank God!). Oh, and, an art gallery. We had to stop in. The artist in residence initially seemed like she would let us be, but quickly decided to be conversational instead. She started off by informing us that she always tells visitors that if something speaks to you, the time to buy it is right now. Alrighty then. We browsed around knowing that we hadn’t come to buy art. After perusing the entire one room gallery, the last thing we came to was a stack of her paintings. As we flipped through we both saw it, but kept right on flipping without mentioning it. Then Shannon went back to this painting and read the description on the back. The artist insisted that we pull it out and take a closer look, so we obliged.

The artist, Lori Griffin, proceeded to explain that she had painted a series of goddesses over a sleepless two month period after a loved one had passed away last fall. The goddesses had visited her one by one. Let me start by saying that I am not really a goddess sort of person either, as strange as that may sound. When it comes to resonance with archetypes, I tend more toward the masculine in nature. For example, two years ago we were in Costa Rica on a retreat to celebrate my best friend Micki’s 60th birthday at Mystica, a retreat center run by another Lori, our good friend and Reiki Master Lori Myles-Carullo. (Incidentally, I highly recommend this place!) One night we each pulled cards from a deck of archetypes. I pulled Green Man… alongside a card labeled “existence”. Made perfect sense. Green Man is the ancient spirit representing the birth and rebirth of man from nature. Yes, that resonated with my state of being.

Shannon isn’t into goddesses either. Yet there was something about this one that stopped us in our tracks. The first thing was that she was translucent. And she was in a forest. And you could see the forest through the trees, I mean goddess. Shannon asked about that. Lori explained that this goddess was very hesitant to show herself. She gave only small, elusive glimpses at first. Lori sensed that she kept herself invisible for her own protection and survival. When she finally did fully appear to her, even then she remained translucent. Nor did she seemingly say anything, at least not to Lori. Lori simply painted what she saw. I just listened quietly at first. Then I took over the questioning.

What is this orange in the background? Lori began explaining to me how she had applied the orange paint. No, no, what does it represent? I mean… the forest is on fire! Oh, yes, she says. This goddess is all about the elements: water and wood (trees) specifically, but also stones and fire. This was a mountain scene, even though it isn’t readily apparent in the painting. Then she goes on to explain that she later discovered that there is a goddess such as this in the Celtic tradition. Her name is Abnoba. She was worshipped in the Black Forest region of Germany. She is the protector of woods, springs, rivers and wild animals. Ah. And this butterfly in her hand? Transformation. Yes, of course. The world is on fire and this goddess is serenely, silently standing there holding out transformation with not a care in the world. Well, I said, “we have to buy it.” You can fill in the rest. Here it is:


Spring Break!

Gone camping! We are off to Big Bend for a week in the wilderness. In my absence, I’ll give you the words of some wise people: Mark Nepo, Susan David, and Charles Eisenstein. Enjoy! I will be back next week with adventures from Big Bend!

First up, a poem by Mark Nepo. This beautifully captures what interbeing is all about.

Beneath All Trouble, Oneness

When I saw the wheelchair man
with spindly limbs twist his neck to the sun,
I wanted to take the newborn from the blanket
and put her in his hands.
 
And when the blind woman knelt at the stoplight
to hug her dog, I wanted to embrace everyone
who ever showed me an inch of truth.
 
There is less and less between heart and world.
In the morning, I am sure
this is a deep blessing.
By night, it seems a curse.
 
In time, our pains in being here
crack open into a soft wonder
that on one owns.
 
I notice everything now, and more,
I am everything I notice.
 
Like one who suddenly sees while staring,
I now know love, though I have been loving.
 
To watch the sun rim your face,
your head in my lap, while small birds sing-
I could have died there on that bench,
but want so much to live.

Next up, a TED Talk by Susan David that is a great follow up to last week’s post “The Zone.”

Last, but not least, an interview with Charles Eisenstein which explains what the new story of interbeing is all about.

The Zone

To be perfectly honest, I had such a rough week that I didn’t have time to wonder what I might blog about. Typically something starts brewing in my head at some point during the week, but this week just didn’t lend itself to that. I was that much under the gun. Then yesterday morning the above diagram came across my FB feed via a page I follow called Unify. Immediately it provided a common thread through everything that this week brought across my path. So to the zone we go!

Let’s start at home base in the comfort zone. Aaaaah… comfort. This week was not at all comfortable for me. I wasn’t the only one. I associate comfort with being at ease. It’s a carefree, worry-free space. It’s feeling safe and secure. It’s not just knowing that everything is going to be o.k., but sensing it experientially. To me, and I think for many people, this state of being seems like a prerequisite to happiness. And for that reason alone, we are highly motivated to stay within the bounds of our comfort zone. The comfort zone tends to get a bad wrap, right? The above chart paints it in the alternative light of fear avoidance. While that motivation is equally true, I think it’s helpful to recognize the both/andness of the comfort zone. Why, after all, should we not be comfortable in life??

I have to insert here that I am highly motivated to seek happiness at this moment in my life. This comes at the heels of a long period (many years) of sober reflection about the state of humanity and who and how I need to be in relation to that. It has not been fun. I miss light and carefree. I do know that state. I’m willing to bet that a lot of people feel the same, feeling exhausted from whatever has been holding the focus of your concerns be they sociological, political, economic, environmental or all of the above. It’s easy to arrive at a place of, well, nevermind. As in never let me bring that to mind because it disturbs my peace. And I can’t do anything about it any way so there is no point worrying about it. This is how our status quo is upheld. Less through conscious assertion and more through subconscious omission.

I find myself questioning if and how I can hold an honest view of the state of humanity such that I show up to it with integrity, while also abiding in a state of happiness. I have an inkling of an idea that figuring out how to do this is critical to any viable path forward. I’m trying. When I get it figured out, you’ll be the first to know. Of course I know that it is the trying itself that stands in my way, but that’s a whole other story that I’ll leave for another time. For now, I will say that I do think that happiness is tied to a profound sense of comfort. Profound, however, is the operative word, which is to say that there are different levels of comfort.

The lowest level of comfort is the bubble to the left in the above diagram. The bounds of this version of comfort is very much dependent on that which has been given us. That is to say that it requires us to accept without question our society and our given identity and role within it. We hardly made any of this up. Neither did our parents or elders. But somebody did, and the rest of us have just accepted it as a given. To question the given is to leave the comfort of your place within it. This. is. Not. Comfortable. So much so that while all of us test those waters, most of us learn to leave them well enough alone. In this sense, what holds us in place ranges from pangs of discomfort to existential fear. Leaving this comfort zone in a very real way threatens our survival, given that our survival is – whether in this country we like to admit it or not- dependent upon our social relations.

I currently have the responsibility of walking my students up to the edges of their comfort zone in order to bring its boundaries to consciousness. While I always proceed with this work delicately, this week brought me face to face with how fragile our worldview and accompanying identity is, and therefore how scary it is to question it. As I looked across the room to the end of the table I could see the sheer terror on one of my student’s faces. She was able to verbalize that everything that she believes in was being challenged and she just needed to be quiet. I, along with everyone else in my class (which I was quite proud of), went out of our way to assure her that she is safe. For as scary as it is, we are profoundly safe. Yet that isn’t readily apparent. What also isn’t apparent is that questioning our boundaries doesn’t mean that everything within them is wrong. What I find oh so important as we help ourselves and others to break free from old constraints is to point out that our ruling perspective isn’t wrong, but simply limited. To be clear, the thing that might help us to transgress our boundaries is the realization that we could understand and experience more of what we are already seeing and experiencing, more of who we are. The transgression doesn’t have to be a revolt. It might more fruitfully be a simple act of wonder.

Fear is powerful. It manifests in all of the ways represented above and then some. It can get ugly. We can get ugly when it takes hold of us. I can’t imagine living in this zone, but certainly some do. When somebody is operating from this state, it is difficult to know what to do. The best I can figure is to recognize it for what it is and don’t get sucked in. Just hold space for other states of existence, other zones, to emerge for that person. Maybe some day they will. Maybe they won’t. But either way, it does no good for another person to get stuck there with them. Patience, forgiveness, and wisdom are key here. It is also o.k. and fully appropriate to sometimes just walk away. We are as adults each ultimately responsible for our own growth. Our real job is to be aware if we are ourselves operating from fear and to make adjustments if so. This is no place to hang out. I’m needing to keep this front and center in my awareness at the moment. My life has me in full training mode on this front as well.

Yet the real question is can we move through all of the above levels while maintaining a state of comfort. That is what I mean when I ask if it is possible for me to show up to our challenges full on while maintaining a state of happiness. Our knee jerk reaction is that comfort equals stasis and growth requires discomfort. From one perspective, yes. Moving beyond our boundaries means stepping into the unknown. It’s hard to imagine feeling any sense of comfort there. Yet is there another perspective? What if we could embrace the mystery of the unknown? Then would it feel uncomfortable? Then would it feel scary? Or might it instead feel exciting, enriching, invigorating… dare I say fun? In fact I think it does and I think everyone has had some experience through which to relate to this alternative view. I also think that there are some people for whom this is their m.o. I envy such people, in a good way.

Applying this thought specifically to my life and my dilemma, what I see is that I don’t know what is going to happen to humanity. I don’t even know what is going to happen to me next! There are some likelihoods of course, but then life is full of surprises. That is the very nature of life- spontaneous emergence (some other time 😉 ). All it means is that anything can happen at any time. I will say, however, that what happens is very much tied to what we believe can happen. You know what Billie Jean King says- “You have to see it to be it.” When I coached I often used this principle with my players. I would tell them that if they wanted to be a college hockey player or a national team hockey player or whatever, then the best bet is to start behaving like you already are. Start carrying yourself like such a player does, training like such a player does, eating like such a player does, thinking like such a player does, etc. We are very powerful. We visualize the future into existence. Our problem is that we don’t realize that we are doing this and therefore keep reenacting our old limitations.

Step one is therefore to realize that we are creating our own realities. This is what the process of challenging our comfort zone is all about. Until we do that, we stay stuck in our old limitations. This work comes with the realization that who we are was made up by somebody other than ourselves. It was given us. Moving beyond our comfort zone is to move from acceptance of the given to acceptance of our creative powers. It is to reclaim the full possibility of ourselves, which I would claim is unlimited. It sure doesn’t seem that way though! How do we access this realm of pure potential? Now we are talking! This is what we call “the zone.” This is a very different zone that the comfort zone. “The zone” I am talking about now is the one that athletes, musicians, artists, and geniuses talk about when they describe something flowing through them as if it is coming from somewhere else. Well it is coming from somewhere else. It is coming from the extended realm of pure potential. Some call this universal consciousness, or universal intelligence, or the field, or the All That Is, or just plain God. You are a drop in that ocean, and therefore you have access to it. When you access it, you are in the zone. This is how we reach beyond old limitations.

What is scary about the current state of humanity is that we are a mess! Good grief, are we a mess. Fear is rearing its ugly head without abandon. We are so extraordinarily uncomfortable as limitations close in on us that we are clinging tightly to any old boundaries that we believe might return us to a sense of safety. None of this will work. The only way forward is… forward. It is easy to react to our predicament by operating from a place of fear, but what if we instead operated from a place of wonder? What if we met the observation of the failure of the old boundaries of our comfort zone (who we are) not as a threat, but as an opportunity? What if we leaned into the field of unlimited potential to become more of who we are, rather than less? This is how I, and many, many others, are choosing to interpret this moment in our history. Does it mean that we are for sure going to evolve to a higher state? No. We might just as easily devolve into a lower state, or no state at all. Yet that choice is fully up to us. And while that realization is daunting, it is also really, really cool.

But I don’t want to leave it there. In order to get to any future state, I have to show up in some viable way on a daily basis. It isn’t sustainable for me to be in a constant state of pressure or fear. I need to be comfortable in my skin in my everyday life. I need to get back to happiness. Even more so, I need to abide in the more profound state of joy. I need to do this while staying square in the knowledge of what is. Blinders will not get me to a higher state. Yet neither will staying stuck in the problems. I need to see through to potential. I need to see it to be it. We all do. Joy comes from a deep sense of knowing that we are all of it already. We are already all Olympians. We are already all enlightened beings. We are already the higher state we seek. That being the case, what on earth is there to not be joyful about? Our old crappy selves are a thing of the past. Soon. Very soon.