Joy . . .

—From EF—

I am mesmerized by things I see regularly that are never the same twice. The ocean is with us every Sunday, and today she was like the wonderful album cover from Tijuana Brass, “Whipped Cream.” (Remember vinyl?) And several times a week we end the day upstairs by our bedroom fireplace, and the flames invent a new ballet every time. Fire, water, air and earth, they are vast and timeless and we are tiny transient blips. And when I see a magnificent photo of a part of the universe, I fall down the rabbit hole of feeling like a fleck of dandruff.

I have a hard time creating reasons why we matter. If I create a really good dinner, what difference does that make on Alpha Centauri? Or if Conrad and I collaborate on a magnificent epic lovemaking, does that register on Saturn’s moons?

Well, maybe it does. If Gaia & Co are sentient, what feeds her? My private theory is that it’s joy. I mean, what other purpose can you propose for joy? Those who have not watched animals carefully think we have a corner on this, but those who have watched animals carefully think it’s part of all life. Why shouldn’t we chip in?

Conrad and I have been helping each other with soggy bouts of depression, as who hasn’t in these times? I said, as we were watching the gulls today, that I have had a few more blurts of joy this week and hope the trend continues. The Unmaker always lurks around the corner and nibbles the green shoots of the Joy Garden, but it’s up to me to tend what grows.

Not just for me. For all of us. I can’t accept that the only force that can gather strength is hate. The oldest texts celebrate dancing, celebrate singing, our ancient expresssions of joy. Connection is the best fertilizer for joy, and we need in these solitary times to find that fizz. Zoom is weird, but it’s better than nothing. I loved meeting a friend at HardCore Espresso this morning and yakking a delighted update and miming a simlulated hug. We’re creative critters. Find the ways. Feed the joy.    

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