Some color has reappeared in the sky after what has been a rather short and mild period of winter. The blue hue beneath the violet and red a radical, bordering on impossible departure from the norm. Heavy gray slate still pressed down upon it, somehow lifted on shoulders of white light. The sun itself made an appearance, to groans of pleasure and sighs of relief. Fog that hung stubbornly until after noon, reluctantly gave way to the brilliant star, if just for a couple hours. Even warmth joined the transformation, and the smell of a distant spring could almost be detected. All a matter of perspective I suppose, but sometimes the slightest glimmer on the horizon can upend the short grim reality of existence.
I have long seen beauty in the sheets of rain and howling winds, a sunny day is not required for me to find joy. In fact, no matter the unpleasant nature of the condition I find myself in, a not so subtle appreciation of the world accompanies me. This tendency of mine does occasionally cause discomfort for those who in the face of a terrible loss receive not condolences from me but congratulations. I remember after digging being stooped above the grave of a friend's very dear canine companion, as we lowered her down. My broad smile and sincere congratulations for a job well done seemed to catch him by surprise. But I saw that his dog had lived to an old age, and died in her sleep without discomfort. She had only recently been bathed and brushed to perfection by a loving friend, and not a trace of illness or infirmity could be detected in her now cold corpse. Although the being he wished to curl up next to that night died suddenly and without warning, the event stood as a testament. What I saw was the steady investment of time and effort he had poured into that dog. The many meals and walks, the warm and attentive kindness he delivered to her for more than a decade. His suffering offered me a view of all this. His suffering was evidence of his investment, it is the only return offered us by the universe for love.
This conclusion does not lead me to despair, rather I am encouraged and rejoice in it. Joy is after all, the weaker sibling of suffering, and although the former does sometimes accompany love, it is more often the latter on whose arm it is draped. A period of joy may welcome love, and the two will cavort and gambol for some time, but eventually suffering returns and overwhelms the scene, and the little one is pushed to the side. All of the great stories in history have been of this brief intercession, when individuals fleetingly lifted themselves up out of the deep caverns of human pain, and glimpsed the golden dawn if only for a few moments. When we find ourselves bathed in warm happiness, it is best that we appreciate it, and when the cold darkness returns, we will have evidence of our love in the suffering we enjoy. For just as fear is an emotion best enjoyed after the danger has passed, love is something that visits us not only at the height of our pleasure, but in the depths of our despair at its loss. In all of this the beauty of existence remains, it cannot be driven off by a little pain.