The Precision of Joy
In response to The Precision of Pain and the Blurriness of Joy: The Touch of Longing is Everywhere by Yehuda Amichai
[Context: Yehuda Amichai writes of “The precision of pain and the blurriness of joy. I’m thinking how precise people are when they describe their pain in a doctor’s office…I want to describe, with a sharp pain’s precision, happiness and blurry joy.”]
How small my nephew’s hand feels in mine, knowing that won’t last forever. His vocabulary: Egg yolk is egg soup and my perm is wiggly wiggly hair. Declaring a meal delicious. Laughing till you’re out of breath but still can’t stop. A cup of Milo warming both my hands, without the need to multi-task. Unintentional poetry. Advice from pilgrims further up the road. Holding on. Holding well. Expressing my needs. The same wisdom that reads anew every year. Taking pictures of the same tree again and again. Realising the bark of a tree looks like crinkly old skin. A connection deep enough to grieve its loss. The lone sneaker outside my house that dead leaves gather around for three days. New patterns. Old ones. Sitting side by side with the same friend at our hair appointment for five hours, year after year. Learning about nightjars. Feeding myself. Feeding others. Celebrating birthdays. A solution found after years of confusion. Someone’s full attention. A friend who checks back in. When a café is completely silent. The road. Home. Cats who sit like humans. Walking companions. Walking alone. Seeing new things along an old path. A safe space inside myself that doesn’t change with the weather. Nurturing myself. Allowing myself to be nurtured. Opening my hands to receive.