On the trail

Just back from two days of backpacking with my friend, T. You'd think if you could generate joy, the wilderness would be the place to do it. I found contentment, certainly. Who wouldn't be at least momentarily content, looking out over a mirror-smooth lake ringed by granite peaks, populated by small trout and jubilant birds. But joy is more elusive than that, not so easily gained. Before I go any further, I'd better come up with a definition for what it is I'm looking for-- joy, in my terms is this: A leaping of the soul, a giant bound beyond happiness, beyond contentment, beyond acceptance, beyond love, a leap that propels you to the infinite, that fills your heart to bursting, that suddenly brings enlightenment. "This is what I was made for!" your whole being shouts. "This is the purpose of life!" I've experienced that feeling a few times, and when I do, it feels like joy was made to last forever; it seems impossible to move out of joy, ridiculous that negative emotions should ever again have a place in the universe. But each time, joy is fleeting, and I fall fall fall, fast and hard, out of Eden.

I didn't find joy in the wilderness this time. "But isn't contentment an element of joy?" asked T., who fully supports my search, fruitless though it may be.

"Yes," I agree. "Contentment is there, buried in joy. But joy encompasses much much more." We pondered that for awhile, moving off to our separate cathedrals of rock, tree and water to meditate, write and read. We reconvened with no better answers than when we'd begun.

Later, on the drive home, T. and I argued about issues that were not trivial to either one of us. We each flared from embers smoldering in our distant pasts, and neither of us realized the spark we'd ignited in the other, the terrible consuming fire of hurt that obliterates joy, obliterates everything but the ancient wound. We left our foray into the wilderness with the taste of smoke, regret, and betrayal on our tongues. We weren't even happy, let alone joyful.

But perhaps I can make progress in this way: today I found the antithesis of joy. Defining what joy is not is important, I tell myself.

Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any happier right now.