One becomes curious about joy, if it is fleeting... no? You sit with it near you at all times, yet, when sad, you look under the dusty slipcovers you placed over your treasures, in the hauntings of the mind, and you find it nowhere. You forget where joy is. So you nest. You slip into the dark, soft, velvet-lined pocket and let someone else carry you a bit. But, there is a glimmer up above, a teasing sparkle and with a yawn and a stretch, you awaken to go looking. The memories tickle, some leave papercuts. You climb to the top and peek out. Snow smiles at you and you unfurl your wings and thank the soft pocket. Small, tender, determined, it is a mere moment and you recall the palace of joy you resided in once. Where is it? You let the color of the sky, the color of your eyes lead the way. Where was joy again? hmm...
I spent some time this week finding soft places in my heart... one such place is at my art desk with
my bunny, Shadow,
who will always look small and black That is a start to joy! I lay the soft, smooth, tulle, a gift from Shelley, out on my vintage art table and set her in her nest. She hops a bit, sniffing around, then settles in and usually sleeps while I draw. The dog (not her friend, I might add, is sleeping in our bedroom, door closed, where my fourth child naps) I start to dream with Shadow, our black, pigmy, lion-head, and magically we open our eyes to joy. I love dolls, though I don't have even one, not one. Strange. Abi Monroe dolls speak to the light in my heart. Yes, I love ballerina dolls... I love ballet shoes in the snow and quartz like ice. Visions of sugar plums and Swan Lake dance in my head. Chippy, battered, angels that only gain grace as they age in the weather.I love the way buds leave a shadow. It reminds me of catching a glimpse of a faery dancing like my jack-in-the-greenor sprites protecting the trees ahh... sacred trees.
I love old houses with robin's egg blue bells just outside the door
and dusty frogs and secret caches that were once Great-Grandma's. With my little tidbits inside.
I love broken, vintage, rhinestones found in our barn and gifts from kindred friends like my dear Joanna Rowan Mullane, just because.
I love ravens and rabbits in the yard, ravens in the trees, ravens on steeples calling my name, telling stories and laughing...
They tell me of crossroads and
water, dreams and pink flowers in the Sun.
I love my family and friends at home and on the computer screen. Joy is art and creating and youand me...
So, you fly through the skies of blue to you to yourself and you see the Palace of Joy of your own making... You stand in the doorway of your enchanted castle, stamp your boots on the palatial floor to shake-off the snow and shiver and wonder why you ever leave this palace of joy, mirth, and contentment, this place in the mind and heart. I mean you own it, joy, you carry it with you, really, this place. Why would you clap your hands and direct the fairies to leave and cover everything that glitters, everything that is soft, like ghosts? You roll up your sleeves step inside and start uncovering all you said your unconscious goodbyes to and shine. This joy is always waiting, with work and quiet it lets the light back in and you find it is time to sparkle.
(All photos and art by Amy Sperry Faldet except the gifts from Joanna Rowan Mullane, the steampunk computer from steampunk workshop blog and the perfect doll by Abi Monroe.)