Joy will rise.
Trample on it, beat it down, it will live.
Joy is sunlight, it’s rain,
it’s life blazing up to the sky in vines and white flowers, it’s mud that shields the root, it’s wind breathing.
Do your worst—
joy will rise,
not to torment you, but because it must. It doesn’t know what else to do.
Birds open their throats and song pours out.
Joy will defy your gravity, always.
A friend of mine stopped by and knocked on my apartment door. Because I was running a bath, I didn’t hear him.
He continued to knock for a bit, then just stood there (so he reported later) feeling frustrated and confused.
After about 10 minutes, he knocked again, and this time I did hear him. I shouted at him from my bath to come in, and, to his surprise, he tried the door and found it unlocked.
It had been unlocked all the time.
And, in a sudden “Beast in the Jungle” moment, a little epiphany that made my skin prickle, I thought of a terrible epitaph:
“He waited his whole life in fear in front of an unlocked door.”
Hope this helps.