autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.


Genuine happiness often seems terribly distant in life; the concept of it flutters aloft and afar, flickering like a winsome thing upon the horizon. Those moments in which we find it within us, always a surprise; some odd, quantum propulsion that shoots perspective forward to the vanishing point or brings it into us like Hubble; a blink in which the universe itself vanishes and all splendor rests like a butterfly within, trembling gently and fanning waves of delight through being.

A butterfly, tremulous presence that rests light as a soap bubble upon air; and our perception honed to it so well, so truly that every wave of motion wafting off its slow and precarious wings is magnified; a hurricane of wholeness, wonder, and whimsical joy.

As I sit here and bask in the torrential weather of this delicate moment, it occurs to me that we spend most of our lives cursed by a paradoxical blend of hyperopia and myopia; always believing ourselves to be “on the wrong end” of life, always waiting for that faraway someday wherein the great happiness will arrive and always blind to the truth; it is with us all the while, waiting to be noticed.

Tonight, I am noticing. The distractions of hindsight and forethought are lifted away and there is only the pristine present; the shimmer of lepidoptera and the gentle thrum of motion that covers being.

My delight sleeps in this moment; several thousand miles away. Perhaps nestled into a pillow, perhaps having kicked off covers, or maybe merely curled into them, dreaming. And yet, he is here, now, with me; the presence that is not presence, curled like silken skeins in my mind. The weight of him is the very trembling, tremulous thing that fans lightly and with such profound presence.

A red admiral, a monarch; sweet ruler of heart, bringer of beauty and joy.