Delight is such a lovely word--and its cousin
delighted. Doesn't that sound appealing? Even the spelling conveys a bit of what it means: a light, airy feeling of enjoyment. It isn't heard much in conversation anymore is it? Somehow the lack of its use has something to say about the intensity of our modern lives. The other day I heard someone use the word
astonished. That's another one getting rusty. But let it roll around in your mouth for a moment. It conjures up some wonderful feelings, doesn't it?
Everyone works so hard these days. We have learned that 'life is difficult' to quote Scott Peck, but perhaps in accepting that it is, we forget to give equal time to it's capacity to delight us. I think we are looking for it, but are not quite sure of what it is we are seeking. I wonder if the huge interest in video games and other visual entertainment is part of that search? I wonder if our insatiable desire for more and more of them rises out of their inability to lighten us? to delight?
What delights you this Saturday morning? Could it be the quiet in your house before the children wake? The smell of the coffee brewing? How about out your window? Is the sky tender and beautiful? The bare trees lovely against the blue? Did you realize how many squirrel nests were in your yard? As you are sitting there, sipping your first cup, planning your day--maybe you could stop for just a moment, and rest in what delights you. That may take some thinking ...but after wards, see if when you go back to your planning, you don't feel just a bit lighter...
I get up from the tangled bed and go outside, But this is all I want to do--
a bird leaving its nest, tell you that up in the woods
a snail taking a holiday from its shell, a few night birds were calling,
but only to stand on the lawn, the grass was cold and wet on my bare feet,
an ordinary insomniac and that at one point, the moon,
amid the growth systems of the garden looking like the top of Shakespeare's
and woods...
I am simply conscious, famous forehead,
an animal in pajamas appeared, quite unexpectedly,
illuminating a band of moving clouds.
sensing only the pale humidity
Billy Collins, excerpted from
of the night and the slight zephyrs
Night Letter to the Reader
that stir the tops of trees.
