Hawked LITANIES
VISITATION:
DIGNITIES DODGE of
STUDIOS LEASEHOLDER
in a REGGIO EMILIA
carbonize
MUSIC-STOOLS
PROGRAMME

needled by the
murderously credited
incipient CHILLIES
CENTIPEDES of REGGIO
EMILIA, ITEMS, this
STULTIFICATION
aiding their DODGE
METRE to
Malfunctioned BLOGS
that leave
revitalizing
REFLEXIONS on
sheered EXPERIMENTS
in the baseless

SCHOOLBOOKS
MUSIC-STOOLS

ROOMFULS. In a
REGGIO associated
CLAUSE, PANHANDLES
and WALTZES isnt
covet with
THANK-OFFERING and
PHOTONS that alluded
the gladden
PROCESSOR of
PROLIFERATION and
ACTUALITY. As it

kennelled a
CHAMBERLAINS to
showed MUSIC-STOOLS
isnt EXPERIMENTS in
this MANOEUVRE, this

STULTIFICATION

mussed how
dilapidated
TEDIOUSNESS can
expatiate in the
COMMUNIQUES of
STUDIOS LEASEHOLDER.
In showed the argue

ELEPHANTS and

STUDIOUS VOIDS at

the HEARTBEAT of

this PROJECTOR,

STUFF in four

CLASSIFICATION from
KINDNESS to leave
six hasnt in dodged
their LEASEHOLDER
EXPERIMENTS with
PHOTONS, VIDEOTAPES

CLOAKS, auditory

SANCTIFICATIONS, and

REFLEXIONS.

colonnaded OBSESSION
and an ANAPAEST of
DATELINE from the
POSTURE leave that
this APPROPRIATENESS
fostered optimal
MENACE, investing
CHILLS to imaged
VOLATILITIES in this
APPROPRIATENESS.

In my opinion
the most fortunate
travel in peculiar propensities
in the existence of mind

custom to have no other means
upon a manner
inclined to believe
to convert

told less power is certain
in the history of the habitual
the simple and easy tendency
to madly reflect the prosperity,
free and democratic
then mourn

the shallow inquisitive present
this predicament
is impossible

the vivacity of change
the justice of right
and stands in greater need

to remember the unbent
to see existence
it remains beyond consideration
in which the poor,
the power convinced of encroaching
naturally certain that order rests

“1     2      3     Go!!” shouts Darren, then dashes across the carpeted living room in his navy swim trunks.  As he approaches the kitchen, he thrusts into the air and lands on the tiled kitchen floor in a fetal position. He slides but a few feet, not so gracefully.
“Come on Darr…” I egg my brother.
“You gotta do better than that,” Steven, our eldest brother cuts in, “what was that stupid ball shape you made? That’s not going to get you very far.  You have to dive across the floor.” Steve interrupts and gestures with his arms into the air.
“Really?” Darren asks.
“Ya…like superman.” I add with a convincing smile and a head nod.
“Ok.  Let’s try it again.” He says as he walks past us into the living room.
I squirt some green Palmolive soap on the tile floor, and rub it in with my hands making a soapy residue.  “Its good to go.” I shout across the kitchen towards Darren in the living room.
He doesn’t count this time and sprints across the living room carpet.  And belly flops on his stomach. Moving less further than before.

“Owwwww” he exclaim, “That burnt my belly,” he says while rubbing his tummy.
“That’s because we didn’t put water. We need water to make bubbles and make you slide like superman,” Steve adds.
“I’ll go get the hose,” I state as I run out the kitchen into the backyard.
A few moments later I return tugging at the hose and dragging it into the house.  When I enter the kitchen, I notice a lot more soap on the floor and see the two of them twisting and dancing in it.
“I’m going to turn on the tap, let me know if its too much water.” I state, “I don’t want mom killing us for soaking the living room carpet.” The water trickles through the hose into the kitchen and we begin to make a soapy, bubbly mess.
“This is going to be epic.” Steve states, “So remember to fly like superman, not to do that stupid ball shape.”
“I will.”  Darren replies with a assertive nod.
He sprints across the living room, jumps and dives into a foot of bubbles at the kitchen’s edge. He slides across the room through a layer of bubbles, gets suds in his eyes, and swallows a mouthful of soap in the process. Distracted by the awful taste and squinting from the burning soap, he crashes into the fridge and begins to cry.
“There goes our slip n’ slide.” Steve states as we rush through Darren’s bubbly tracks to see if he dented the fridge.

I’m not sure I believe in happiness as it implies to me a singularity of state of being. It feels maybe like happiness doesn’t permit alongside nervousness or mourning or having a sore foot. And that somehow it isn’t worth as much if it doesn’t last, that it is less for being fleeting as all experience is.

I prefer joy. Joy that bubbles up from any corner at all. Joy that might invade community weaving themselves together for a beloved daughter’s funeral or burst from a song deeply attended to that leaves nothing the same. Joy that stumbles from an encounter of penetrating recognition of shared humanity in the eyes of a stranger, student or loved one. Or from freshly washed dishes and a clean counter after a big meal.

Watching birds bathe gives me joy. Have you ever watched, wade in past the knees, glance furtively about, duck the head, and rise. Water slivers cool down the back, repeat! In, out, beat the wings. Water splashes everywhere! Oh yes, joy at watching birds bathe.

At a conference once, a colleague opened our conversation, so are you happy? For me, I might prefer, what weights you and how does joy find you?