Because in trying to articulate what, perhaps, joy is, it has occurred to me that among other things—the trees and the mushrooms have shown me this—joy is the mostly invisible, the underground union between us, you and me, which is, among other things, the great fact of our life and the lives of everyone and thing we love going away. If we sink a spoon into that fact, into the duff between us, we will find it teeming. It will look like all the books ever written. It will look like all the nerves in a body. We might call it sorrow, but we might call it a union, one that, once we notice it, once we bring it into the light, might become flower and food. Might be joy.
Begin each day anchored in stillness, taking nothing for granted, open to whatever the coming day's gift may be. Listen to the silence for ten minutes or so and realize how filled it is, filled with the breath of God! Su8ch silence wants to draw from you a quiet prayer that leans on that presence and seeks to harken to it throughout the day.