The road has to be cleared for necessary traffic, other emotions to play their part in the passion of life.
Joy comes because the master needs it. When she comes, joy flows like a river, unimpeded, waxing confidence, and winding down the street like a Carnival parade. The crowd caught by surprise was moved to throw their cloaks and wave palm fronds, while trees offer their branches to create a universal appreciation for even the smallest piece of joy, like a gold nugget, on this long and winding road of pain.
A bead of joy burst from my chest and ignited the room. It was a contagious moment, spreading from heart to heart. Joy must be fresh, like a colt not previously ridden, balancing on weak knees like a moko jumbie reaching unimagined heights. It won’t last though. ‘After joy is sorrow’, mothers’ words slicing through our laughter like a killjoy.
She never overstays her welcome. The colt has to be returned shortly as joy is returned to the master. The road has to be cleared for necessary traffic, other emotions to play their part in the passion of life.