Letters From Surprise & Delight: ‘Askfulness’ and Thankfulness

Surprise & Delight is a name attached to a source I’ve been occasionally hearing from over a period of about 25 years. I don’t know what or where it is. I’m not a big fan of the term ‘channeling’. However, when I write down stuff ‘from Surprise & Delight’ much of it has the trappings of channeling, often to my discomfort. Surprise & Delight is a name ‘they’ (it) suggested to me almost from the start, claiming it represented a sort of collective or corporate entity. I don’t know. It could be anything.

I do know that as strange as it sometimes gets, there’s something to it. Usually while I’m writing it, I’m thinking how outlandish it is; then later I have to admit I learned something. For example, while I was writing the material below, my conscious impression was that ‘askfulness’ was one of the stupidest words I’d ever heard, much less committed to paper by my own hand. When it was over, I had to completely reverse that opinion. I was also struck by the definition of happiness.

The following is from January 2010, after one of our big snowstorms.

Askfulness is the way toward receiving things worth being grateful for. It’s basically the state of knowing that you are not the source of everything you need. There is indeed a paradox here. Askfulness means you acknowledge the greatness that is so much larger than yourself. It also means you are the source of everything you need when you open yourself to it, that is, when you ask for it.

You can practice this sort of thing in reverse, by contemplating something you’ve received that you enjoy and realizing that if you’d thought of it, you would have asked for it. For example, a beautiful snow-covered landscape all around you with a brilliant blue sky and, inside, a warm fire. You might take it for granted in the rush of being preoccupied with so many ‘important’ desires and goals in your life. But it – the simple beautiful day – is also important to you, and a help to you, a real blessing. Realize that you wanted it, and you have more awareness of the need to be grateful, which is, to be happy. To be grateful is to be happy and to be happy is to be grateful.

October and Smoke (Sunset, Friday, 1 October 2010)

William Van Doren, OCTOBER AND SMOKE (Sunset from Stony Point, Albemarle County, Va.) Oil on watercolor block, 13 x 19.

In fact it’s not smoke (I’m pretty sure, after two days of heavy rain), but the haze in an otherwise clear sky looked like distant fire and seemed to promise Indian Summer to come.

Lifting (Sunset, Thursday, 30 September 2010)

William Van Doren, LIFTING (Sunset from Stony Point, Albemarle County, Va.) Oil on watercolor block, 13 x 19.

At sunset the rain seemed to be ending (it has since started up again) and clouds overhead turned a strange shade of brown against a strong silver light.

Rain Over Piney Mountain (Sunset, Wednesday, 29 September 2010)

William Van Doren, RAIN OVER PINEY MOUNTAIN (Sunset from Stony Point, Albemarle County, Va.) Oil on watercolor block, 13 x 19.

Since there are many mountains by this name I should say that this is the one near Advance Mills, a few miles from the east wall of the Blue Ridge. Although it’s a small mountain, its solitary position makes it seem quite prominent. At sunset it was perhaps 75 percent covered by rain clouds.

The Awakening (An Excerpt)

The sun came up with a rattle of rose and orange but while it moved toward the southeast clouds were building in from the southwest. Against a gray ceiling lower clouds spread out whitish and slate, a bad sign. The day hadn’t had a chance to warm up before the sun became a white blur.

I sat outside on the porch contemplating the sky and the night’s dream, just a very brief message, really, and wishing it could be a little warmer for breakfast, and wondering when I’d have to start taking it inside – how many days of this weather might be left. The thought seemed related to the dream. One sentence.

Message From the Beyond: I thought if I played possum the Reaper might pass me by, but I guess it doesn’t work that way.

I wondered if it was from my dad, or perhaps my mom – I suppose it’s natural to think bulletins from the other side might come from one’s deceased parents. Then I remembered how I’d actually come upon this dream.

Ellie’s alarm had gone off, and had gone through our traditional first snooze, then gone off again, leading to our traditional second snooze, and I didn’t fully understand that the alarm I was hearing was the third. There was no traditional third snooze, except in special cases. I lay, uncharacteristically, on my stomach and with my head flat down, and not moving, hoping to avoid the notice of Time. And Ellie. As I realized this wasn’t going to work, and flipped over, and took the clock out of Ellie’s hand to take downstairs (long story), the message came to me, except it was ‘I thought if I played possum Time might pass me by’. But within five seconds I’d transposed my snooze scenario into a dream message from the great beyond, and concerning Death, not just Time. My writing day had already begun.

Zouaves (Sunset, Tuesday, 28 September 2010)

William Van Doren, ZOUAVES (Sunset from Stony Point, Albemarle County, Va.) Oil on watercolor block, 13 x 19.

The clouds appeared in so many different styles of dress, they made a most irregular army.