By Catherine Viel, October 27, 2022
(Golden Age of Gaia)
October 26, 2022
He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sun rise.
~William Blake, Eternity
Joy is an experience that has largely eluded me. Even while having “fun,” or sitting quietly in what was meant to be a pleasant reverie, I’ve always had one foot trapped in a pit of sadness.
I do remember carefree, joyful times spent with my best friends, two sisters who are also my distant cousins. Their father was my godfather and their mother, my godmother. My godparents had the capacity to be silly and fun in a way I didn’t usually associate with grownups.
Sixty-some years later, I’m remembering my godfather’s hearty guffaw, my godmother striking a pose with a lampshade on her head, the Brownie camera capturing a blurry photo before we all collapsed in helpless giggles, grownups included.
My godparents’ lives were no easier or less fraught than anyone else’s. Yet even in midst of heartache or turmoil, they always held to a shining thread of joy. Their faith in something—in God, in the undaunted goodness of life—no doubt suffered setbacks of which I was unaware. But I don’t believe they ever lost it.
*****
Yesterday I did errands, Trader Joe’s for the usual supplies, a few other stops. No different than any of the thousands of other shopping trips I’ve accomplished over the decades.
So why did I have…fun? Why did I truly enjoy chatting with other customers, exchanging tips about where to find the best lox (The Santa Barbara Smokehouse, according to one masked yet animated woman)?
Why was I filled with exuberant delight when Jesse the troubadour just happened to be driving by as I was unloading groceries? The brief hug we exchanged through his truck window still makes me smile. He, too, is an emitter of joy, despite circumstances that must be frequently uncomfortable.
There were the usual number of apparently misinformed souls tightly masked up despite California’s grudging relaxation of “Covid mandates.” One younger woman wore two masks, which caused a double take and a slight shake of my head.
I’m far removed from mainstream sources that prompt mask-wearing even though it’s been demonstrated they’re useless against viruses. All I can apply is the platitude, to each their own, and continue on my way with joy untouched by frustration at the behavior of others.
*****
I no longer feel impaired by having one foot trapped in the tarpit of sadness, which I’m realizing is composed of old fear plus the anticipation of future fear.
It seems the capacity for joy is only available to me when fears—old, present, and potential—are defanged and can do no more than snarl at me like a toothless dragon trying to protect its tarnished horde of tin.
There’s no treasure there, in those fears. The treasure is the joy, that intangible yet visceral and absolutely real experience, Heaven on Earth, an overflow of possibility and delight.
I sense I’m now attached to an endless silver thread of joy rather than the old snare of fear and sadness. Why did they leave? How were they defeated? I’m not sure, and have no urge to pick apart the miracle to see how it worked.
Allowance for what is seems to be another ingredient of joy in my newly unfolding world. I’m content to smile and be glad.
