As I watch my daughter pull away in her hard-earned, recently bought, 12 year old convertible, I send hopes that it becomes a part of her archive of joy. Soon to leave the nest, so to speak, I will her archive to be deep and wide, full of sense memories that will serve her in the growth pains ahead.
We each must foster an archive of joy; which is the resilience that carries us through beyond the distortions and distractions of disillusionment. Because, of course, betrayed expectations and shattered presumptions befall us all as we navigate our lives. And though they are not ultimately real, they are gifts of spirit that help us expand into conscious living.
Joy, on the other hand, is real: it is the resonance of our sacred knowing of life’s worth.
There is another archive I’ve been filling – or, so I hope. The archive of being loved. That, too, is one we can never over fill, one that comes in handy during lonely times. May we be generous in our sympathetic joy and gestures of love. The challenge of the world will then become a dance of awareness and wonder.
