There is no sound. It is still. Not wind, not bird, not beast. All is quiet. The dead pine stands half illuminated in the pale blue light of the rising moon. Stars glisten between the high branches. I hear my own breath, feel my pulse without intent.
Writing thrives on sorrowful tales. When all is well and going fine these are derided as feel good tales, with cheesy endings and contrived plots. It is expected that life will take a turn downwards, and many who live in otherwise easy lives feel nothing outside of negative impressions. We do not know how to take hold of joy as well as sorrow. It does not have our trust, our respect. It feels not genuine. This is, though a lie. Joy is more real than sorrow, happiness is our expected lot in life eternal, only we are so used to being deceived through the subtlety of sin we have little clue how to understand the nuances of joyful occasion. Like snow to Eskimos we know sorrow by many names, but joy is like green plants, little known and of single kinds.
I distrust pain, which hampers my literary and movie interaction to be sure. All this to say that all is well with me this evening. Nothing happened today, it was indeed a day of rest, though positive interactions were throughout. I feel fine, and feel like I should not. Even when I feel faith, I do not trust it. That is evil still in my midst. So, begone, forces of ill and wrong. Don’t depress me with feelings of distrusting the good. It is evil which is the shadow, joy which is the real. We confuse those, seeing night as day, lying to ourselves, pleasing the wrong masters.
Not tonight. I feel fine feeling fine, though that is not an introspective thing to say. I eagerly embrace joy without restraint or guilt, knowing that is truly the call and gift to all, if not now then in eternity. This, of course, is where I wish to make my home, so I might as well get used to its rhythms and flows. In the stillness of a quiet mountain Sunday eve, one can just make out the melody. Almost. It’s there, I think I can hear it barely, in the distance. It awaits.