The Patience of Happiness
Tink sat immobile as a rock watching the snowy vista outside the window. To a human, the scene might have looked drab and unchanging, a featureless world buried beneath a heap of snow. But to Tink, it was a mesmerizing wonderland.
She saw how the branches of the great pine dropped clumps of snow that dissolved as they fell into a dazzling powder and how crystal drops of water fell from the icicles hanging from the eaves. She saw the tiny ant crawling across the window pane and heard the grand whistle of the train rolling across the valley. Suddenly black wings flickered as a bird darted onto a nearby branch, setting off another cascade of falling snow. A car whooshed past, a streak of shine and color that gave off a great, wet sound and a low rumbling hum. She could feel the vibrations of its purr against her body as it passed and it felt like music to her.
She wasn’t dreaming of spring, or of dinner, or about her toys or the mouse she saw in the corner of the basement that morning. No lists of obligations were running through her mind, even though there was plenty of grooming to do. She wasn’t concerned with finding distraction from the moment; the moment was rich with motion and music. The fan on the furnace whirred; the refrigerator hummed; the trees danced; snow fell.
To Tink, rooted in the contentedness of being, moments weren’t something to endure. They were deep treasures to devour with delight. Her waiting wasn’t filled with boredom, but with alert anticipation of the next sensual pleasure, and the next, and the next. And each moment was different and held a surprise.
And that is the secret of the patience of happiness. It’s the wakeful savoring of all that a moment holds.
Posted in 
