It’s like I can feel what happiness is all about, what it’s truly about.
I can sense it when I see it, like prickles on the back of my neck.
It’s a bit allusive though, like I can’t grasp hold of it.
I can’t keep it in a jar and hold onto it tightly.
It’s like sand or leaves on wind.
It’s like water between fingers or time–
it moves, morphs, changes form, leaps, transforms and flows.
Right about the time I feel confident that I’ve mastered joy and happiness
or gotten to it’s roots, I lose it.
I think that’s part of the attraction.
It’s not ours to have, it chooses us.
It waxes and wanes before our eyes, as an experience in the moment.
Nothing permanent, always changing.
I can’t own it, nor can I invite myself over.
But when it floats into my heart I am grateful.
And when it leaves I still seek it, looking outside my body for stolen treasure.
Clever joy, you are a fickle friend.