“Look into the spoon where it caves in, what do you see?” the science instructor asked.
“I see myself, upside down!”
“Upside down! I’m upside down!”
“OK,” the instructor returned, “can you make yourself appear right side up?”
“Stand on my head!!!!!!”
“OK, go ahead and try it and see if it works!”
“NooooOOOOOooooooOOOoooo….!!”
“But if you look on the other side of the spoon, it is right side up!”
“OK, yay, the convex side. But what about on the concave side? Can you make your image right side up??”
After some acrobatics and cacophony, the instructor revealed that if you bring the spoon really, really, really near, you will see your image in the concave “lens” of the spoon right side up again.
I tried, but it did not work. She consented it’s not easy, the focal point is really very, very near.
::
That sense of sorrow I feel, that so often accompanies my joy, I wonder about it.
I wonder if it is because this joy feels like delayed joy; if it is because I wish I could laugh at Ferdinand too, him driving his sisters bonkers. I wonder if this tint of melancholy is because I think of fellow bereaved and their brokenness. I wonder if I feel that tingle of tears coming because we were so close and then it was taken away, and then we got lucky again. Because we could have lost another one.
I also feel this joy is deeper- pure, intense joy, even if sorrow is intimately bounded to it.
Sometimes I think, “I can never experience that kind of unfettered joy again. That kind of innocent joy I used to feel, in my younger days.”
And then I say to myself, “Well, maybe back then you were not feeling joy as it ought to feel, with that residue of sorrow in it.”
“Perhaps feeling pure joy is only possible after intense sorrow.”
“Oh, what nonsense.”
“Perhaps there is no pure joy; only the fools think there is joy and nothing else.”
“Oh stop making things more complicated than it ought to be.”
“Perhaps the enlightened feels joy and its underside of sorrow, but are wise enough to know that afterall, they are pretty much the same…”
“You’re getting weirder by the minute.”
“Isn’t that possible? They know sorrow is there, perhaps not within close scope, but nevertheless is all One.”
“OK, whatever, my brains hurt from this senseless yabber. What does it matter? The world is not going to be a better place because you, er, discovered this nonsense.”
::
I guess it depends on your focal point, your lens. Do you have a take on this?
(BTW, Happy Halloween if you celebrate it. I read the book A Gift for Abuelita that is a story based on Dia de los Muertos and cried me a river and contemplated making a braid for Ferdinand, but just cannot bring myself to do it. Maybe next year.)
The relationship between joy and sorrow is, in my humble opinion, captured beautifully by Kahlil Gibran in his ‘On Joy and Sorrow’. “The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.” I think I know that’s true, I really hope so.
Yes, thanks for that reminder! I love that poem from Kahlil Gibran too. And I so want it to be true too, some days it feels that way, some days not so,…
the conversations in your head sound vaguely like the ones in mine…
For now, I think that “pure” joy is a very beautiful and marvelous thing, but that doesn’t make mixed joy any less beautiful or marvelous.
I love the story of the spoon and the focal point. There’s something appealing to the idea that we can right ourselves if we get close enough, focus enough. And it makes sense somehow that this wouldn’t be easy to do.
Well, I like your ’senseless yabber’ – makes perfect sense to me!
I think it does depend on your focal point. Just as it is hard to maintain the righted image in the spoon, it is hard to find that deeper, purer joy sometimes, to see it for what it is.
I had a friend in her sixties who said that throughout her life, when she would sit and watch a sunrise she would think, “Is this is best moment of my life?” Sometimes I wondered that before when I would be riding my bike in the zone, me one with the machine, flying, and I would think, “Is this that moment? Is this joy?” And I think it is like love, before you fall deeply in love, you ask yourself that question, “Is this love?” And then when you fall, you just know. And now, when my girl is climbing on me, and I am giggling, and we are in the midst, I just feel the joy. But sometimes I feel like the great sorrow made me appreciate anything close to perfect moment and joy, because before that I was waiting for the next perfect moment. I perhaps should drink more coffee before commenting. Much love.
My twins were my first and (likely) only children. One died, one lived. It’s a perfect natural experiment for comparing the properties of joy and sorrow. So far joy seems to be more powerful and valuable but they are equally durable.
I’d trade in my mixed joy for pure joy in a heartbeat.
I love that internal dialogue. It’s very familiar to me.
Wishing you joy in all its forms xxx
this made me think of Kahlil Gibran, too. i am not sure i remember a belief in pure joy…i’m not sure i ever had it, even as a child. i know i don’t trust it when i see it sold or promoted by others as being in their possession.
at the same time, i also don’t know if i’m comfortable with the idea that the relationship between joy and sorrow is inverse, that they are two sides of the same coin. something about the way they work over time doesn’t strike me right, but i haven’t given it enough thought.
huh.
sending your joy and your sorrow my witness, my love.