You might think I should have stayed home for a full recovery but we were visiting with friends at their home a few blocks away, friends who are quite literally world travellers and aren't here in Guelph with us very often. I was so looking forward to seeing them. Two of our other best friends were attending as well, and we ended up having the most interesting conversation.
Is started with this question: "what is the moment or activity when you are aware that you are experiencing bliss, the sheer joy of being alive?" The answers were varied and interesting, from the obvious to the more philosophical and difficult to describe. Strangely I had a hard time finding an answer immediately. I often go through the world with a veil of anxiety clouding my perceptions, throwing off that veil can at times be blindingly good, shocking even. But I have to allow myself to do it!
A day of productive work domestically, followed by dinner with my favourite people can bring the feeling. MrBP calls it "an unusual feeling of well-being". I often have the joy when I'm out walking and I'm just looking at the sky, the trees, feeling the breeze. Winter weather gives me the feeling, oddly, as long as I've got the right gear so I'm not distracted by freezing my ta-ta's off.
Immersion in a great book can give me the feeling and always has.
I found the timing of this discussion interesting because even as I was sitting in the beautiful living room of my friends I was thinking ahead to the next morning with anticipation. The day after a migraine is always one, for me at least, that brings clarity and joy. It's like the cobwebs have been cleared away and I have a new appreciation for light, sounds, smells and just the joy of being free of pain.
|The Golem from Prague|
When are you able to recognize the beauty of the world? Do you often get a glimpse of it?
In other news, MrBP's book club and my "serious" book club are both reading Jane Austen next month.
Speaking of joy, how about this picture of my rascals taken about a decade ago? From tall to small:
|Rock City, New York State|
|Wool duster things.|
|Painting by Patricia MacDonald|