Deep, Abiding Joy
There didn’t have to be beauty. A little wave of pleasure now and then would probably have been enough to keep things moving in the right direction. You know, a little relief from the dullness and drudgery, the anxiety and stress. A little bit of comfort, a tickle, a taste might have been all that was necessary.
But the world is strewn with beauty nevertheless. Every corner of it. It comes in endless hues and shapes and shades.
There didn’t have to be awe, or savoring, or exultation. We probably could have moved forward with no bigger carrot than a hot, cooked meal and a warm, dry bed.
And yet wonder strikes us now and then so deeply that it takes our breath away.
Why should there be splendor? Or tenderness enough to make our eyes well with tears?
Why symphonies? Why poetry? Why dance?
Why are we so moved by goodness? Why do we yearn for truth? What is this mystery in which we find ourselves? And why do we seek to understand it?
Why is it at once so simple, and so grand? And why do we feel such gratitude for the very fact of our being, and such deep, abiding joy?
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