Not many things compare to, or share, the turmoil of emotions moments upon finishing a beautiful book.
Some things, maybe. Waking up early to the smell and chill of autumn reaching in. Taking a long, unexpected moment out of the day to curl up against his warm chest. Cat’s paws walking across your legs and back as she curls in there.
It’s not contentment, or satisfaction. It’s a riot of good feelings all clamoring to the forefront — but since they are all good feelings, they don’t shove and squirm, but generously give and then take the limelight in their turn. Goodness, truth, beauty, joy, peace. Love, softness, gentleness, kindness.
This book I have spent yesterday and today with, this book. This book… I have recommended many books in my life, but this book? No, this story will stay sacred, close to me, a secret for my heart alone. This book, that has waited for me my whole life, and never faded.
I have been meaning to write about the situation of my life — the absolutely, complete goodness of life. The peace and contentment, the goodness. The rightness. My spiritual and emotional turbulence have, at long last settled, and now fit smoothly around me, making me feel whole. Complete. I trust myself more, love myself more, know myself more. At this moment, I feel like the goodness from the book is seeping through my skin, spreading to touch everything I do. This book has concentrated all the more subtle good things that have been enclosing around me these last months, concentrated all of them so that I am overcome.
These do not work — do not fully describe: I am happy. I have joy. Life is good. Life is wonderful.
This does: I am me. I am whole, complete.
And enjoying the idea of being more complete as the wheel of life’s fortunes continues on.