Hope is the thing with feathers

Before I hope that you have a happy new year full of hope and happiness, let me hover over the meaning of 'hope'. The Course emphasizes that we interpret every word, thought and event either to reinforce illusions or to dispel them. We make this choice so swiftly and subliminally that we do not seem to be choosing at all. But you can usually tell when your thinking has lapsed back into self-delusion, because something does not feel right: I must have decided wrongly, because I am not at peace (T5 VII 6.6)

So there are two ways of understanding what it is to hope. What we mostly mean by hope is only wishful thinking. It is the limp kind of hope that wishes everything would magically arrange itself to suit yourself. You can hope you do well in the exams or the interview, as if optimism will compensate for not doing your homework. You can leave your umbrella at home and hope it will not rain; but if it does, there is no reason to blame the weather for spoiling your day. Superstitious hoping is especially directed at what you do not want to happen - 'fingers crossed',  'touch wood' - in an attempt to wave a magic wand at imaginary forces of destiny: 'I hope I won't get sick', 'I hope I won't mess up,' 'I hope someone else won't mess up', 'I'm praying I won't miss the last train.' This kind of hoping sets yourself up for disappointment, gears your mind to expect exactly what you feared, and proclaims it is not your fault how things turn out. 'I never asked to be born!' 'Just my luck!' 'Isn't it always the way?!'

To hope that something thrilling will happen, or that something awful will not happen, is to lay the responsibility for your peace of mind on other people and on external events. 'Hoping' in this sense is to reduce yourself or someone else to being a hapless victim of circumstances. 'Hoping' is how we dodge being present and decisive as each situation unfolds. This kind of hope is an expression of uncertainty, and only adds to the anxiety it is meant to dispel.

If you imagine what might happen, very often the outcome is startlingly close to what you imagined. So you might as well imagine what you would like to happen. This is at least empowering, if you have believed yourself a victim of circumstances. It is a way of reminding yourself that There are no idle thoughts. All thinking produces form at some level (T2 VI 9.13). But a tranquil mind is not attached to any particular outcome, and knows it does not know what is best for anyone. If you really 'hope' for peace and joy, do not look for them in the future, but let them come to mind here and now. Then 'hoping' becomes irrelevant.

There is another way of understanding hope that is not uncertain. It is grounded in conviction, because it is a remembering of what for you is most true and lovely. This kind of hope does not depend on anything changing outwardly. It is the answer to any form of fear or horror, because the mind is free to affirm love and beauty at any moment, even in the apparent absence of both.

Hope 'springs eternal' because it is the mind's memory of its own reality. Reality can be denied, ignored and resisted, but it remains unaltered. It will find a way to reach you, sudden and surprising as a blackbird singing in the night; in that instant when for a moment the heart lifts and fear falls away. Hope asks nothing, does nothing. It only restores the soul to itself. We do not need to 'hope' that hope will join us for another year. It is already here, perched in the mind. It never stops - at all -

“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.

Emily Dickinson