Love shook my heart like wind
on a mountain punishing oak trees-Sappho
Joy is small. When the whole world is raging and out of control, joy sneaks quietly in on the back of a kitten climbing the window screen at 4am or in the fragrance of an unexpected rosemary bush on the way home. The other day, joy found it's way into my hand in the form of a tiny orange scrap of construction paper, a worthless item by all accounts, but a gift that held the worth and generosity of a laughing little girl. Will I now be carrying around a small piece of orange paper? Perhaps for a while.
Joy is in the quick flash of a dimpled smile from a little boy so newly safe. Joy is a child fast asleep on the floor as the others sing and dance like banshees all around. Joy is a child's pride at coloring in the lines or singing all the words to a Shakira song. Joy is in the hands of a pudgy toddler attempting to play my ukulele while holding a hard boiled egg.
Joy is in a small man with grey dreadlocks who quickly and competently dives in to stop a fight, yet later brushes all aside with a quiet smile. Joy is the process of trying to untangle the tiny yet surprisingly unyielding row of braids that a pair of giggling girls wove throughout my hair. Joy is in a bag of dried chickpeas, even if they are an admission that the sweet man who gifted them, really just doesn't know how to cook dried chickpeas.
Joy is in the embrace of a thin woman with a short afro and graceful hands. Joy is in her inward soft smile as she sings with me and the others. Joy crinkles at the corners of her eyes. In my many years of being a musician, I have never met anyone who found such joy at simply singing a song. Her gift of joy to me is greater than anything I have to give her.
The world rages, but.. well.. there is joy.
No comments:
Post a Comment