Joy. My heart is full of joy. Even though much of December has been a struggle. Joy is connected to giving. To the Holiday Spirit. I feel joy when I am connected to people who are close; I feel joy when I am alone, writing, doing art, sitting in silence. I live in the times between. Joy is not temporal, not limited by time or possessions or Earthly matters—like human happiness seems to be. Joy rises above the everyday slothing about. When I remember what I am grateful for, I feel joy. When I see the Downy Woodpecker at the suet feeder, I feel joy. I feel joy when I am out shoveling the driveway at 8pm, stop to stand in the snow and stillness, view the December Moon rising in the dark.
I remember a time when I was afraid to feel too much joy, or let it grow too big in my life. I was afraid of what would be left behind when it vanished. I waited for the other shoe to fall. I feel more connected to a Higher Power these days. I believe in what I cannot see. Joy lives in the invisible places. Tears that well up when I watch a sappy movie; the director’s vision, a tugboat of joy. Things no longer bring me joy. They might make me happy for an hour, a few days. But I’m not in the mood to accumulate things to fill the Void.
Driving through the snowstorm this week, I started thinking about the future. A solid Cancer/Taurus combo, I dwell mainly in the Present or the Past. The Future, it’s not here yet. I have to sit down and make myself plan. That’s where a yearly practice comes into play. Scheduling time in the studio, writing retreats, or art events. Goals, deadlines, something I can shoot for in the creative fields. What I was thinking about on my drive along snow packed roads and layers of black ice, is that if I live a full life, I may only have a good 30 years left. Then I started to panic. I have so many books I want to write, so many photographs I want to take, so much love. How will 30 years ever be enough?
The thought process continued over lettuce, ham & cheese, past the Grain Belt sign on the Northeast Gateway, and around the bend where the Mississippi River crosses the Plymouth bridge. Then it came to a screeching halt. There are no guarantees that I will live to the end of the day. I am planning for the future; I don’t know if I will even be alive. I still need to plan. But it’s not where I’m going that matters. It is where I am. The panic subsides. This morning I am too serious. Yet the Joy — she’s still there.
No matter what happens, I feel like I have already lived a full life. During one of my 10-year, single jags after art school, I started a timeline of my life. I drew a long thick line on a yellow parchment scroll, began with the year I was born, and started marking in significant life events. The scroll is rolled up on a shelf in my art studio. I want to take it out and look at where I left off. It’s been at least 7 years, maybe longer, since I added a new cairn. It’s a way that I honor my life, the fact that I have walked on the Earth. I am only a small dot on the planet, loved by a few, invisible to most. It’s easy to get lost. The visual teaches me to pay attention to what has passed; it informs the future.
Joy is a day of making art, writing a story, working on photographs, posting on red Ravine. Joy is not fleeting like happiness. It’s always there, waiting for me to recognize its face. Joy is not what numbs me. Joy is the first strawberry on the vine, the Strawberry Moon, the Winter Solstice, Summer in Minnesota. Joy is a film that moves, a tumble in the hay, a Stripeypants in the hand, a Kiev curled in a ball next to me on the couch. Joy is a loving partner, a new dream, the center of the labyrinth, along the edges, too. Joy is a handful of October leaves, tumbling down a mountain path. Joy is a Giant Moon rising over the Bitterroots, half in Shadow. Joy is Light.
-related to Topic post: WRITING TOPIC — JOY
Beautiful post. We have talked about this particular aspect of life in the past: the realization that our future may not last through the day. Sometimes I wonder how differently we would live our lives if we knew death could jump out and grab us any time, anywhere. My youth was spend with little or no thoughts of death as a reality in my life. Maybe that’s how it is to keep us going.
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I hadn’t thought of this until I read it here, but yes, Joy is not fleeting like Happiness. Joy is there even if we don’t see it.
QM, also insightful this idea of you dwelling in Past and Present and not so much in Future. And I’m definitely a Future-dweller, not so much Past. Jim’s much more like you, and so it’s hard when we talk about Future, because it’s not a place he likes to spend time thinking about. Me, I’m all about making plans, although, as you say, we might not get there at all.
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I like the concept of the timeline. It is an interesting idea to really look at events that are personal milestones. The imagery of the scroll makes me think about the events, and the spaces inbetween. perhaps it is some of both that define us.
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reccos62, I agree. I think it’s both that define us. The events, the spaces between. I sometimes like the spaces between the best because I feel like I can take a breather, a little respite from the intensity. I really do want to get that scroll out again. Next time I’m at the studio, I might have to unroll it and have a look. I’m one of those people who forgets what she has accomplished sometimes. I feel like I’m always moving forward, trying to do something different with my art or writing. The times I like best are when I rest for two seconds and sit with what I’ve done. Thanks for stopping by reccos!
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Bob, thank you. This notion that I don’t have forever seems to pop up around milestones like the end of the year when I’ve evaluating what I’ve done in the past year. Every year the time I feel I have left grows shorter. I try not to stay in those thoughts too long. I’ve actually done a lot with my life. I like looking back at history to see what others have done with their lives as well.
ybonesy, you are a forward moving person; I like history and looking back. We meet in the present most times, here in the space that is red Ravine. I have so enjoyed meeting you in the middle ground. We were like Earth and Sky in that way. A nice balance. Some ground. I feel Joy at having spent a lot of creative time with you over the last five years. What a blessing. 8)
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