The Happiness Journey

Happiness is not a fixed star, but a murmuration,

a thousand starlings folding the sky into origami wings of becoming.

It begins in the marrow of morning,

where light spills like honey across the fur of a sleeping fox,

and the wind hums lullabies to the bones of old trees.

But sometimes, joy arrives as thunder cracking open silence,

a jagged truth slicing the sky like a heron’s cry in fog.

The storm does not ask if you are ready. It simply dances.

Even the hurricane, with its eye of stillness, teaches us:

there is a center to every chaos where joy waits, unshaken.

A dolphin arcs through saltwater laughter, 

its body a question mark curving toward delight.

It does not ask permission to leap,

it trusts the ocean to catch its joy,

even when the waves are wild with memory.

We are whales in the deep,

singing songs no one hears but everyone feels.

Our happiness echoes through the dark like sonar,

mapping the unseen with notes of longing and grace.

And it is the silence after the song,

when the whale dives deep

and the ocean holds its breath in reverence.

Sometimes, joy is a hawk riding thermals of memory,

its talons clutching the fragile pulse of now.

Other times, it is a snail tracing silver prayers across the bark of time.

And sometimes it is lightning splitting the heartwood,

a sudden clarity in the downpour of grief.

The rain does not apologize for its cleansing.

To be happy is to be porous,

to let the rain in without drowning,

to let the sun in without burning.

To let the storm strip the leaves so new buds may dare.

It is the slow bloom of a cactus flower in the desert of doubt,

the sudden flight of monarchs from milkweed,

the hush of snow on a roof that remembers every storm it survived.

Happiness is not a destination, but a migration,

a seasonal rhythm in the blood of birds,

a compass woven into the heart’s wing.

It is the moment a child laughs underwater,

bubbles rising like lanterns

toward the surface of everything we forgot we loved.

To be happy is to be porous— to let the rain in without drowning, to let the sun in without burning.

Yes…

Happiness is that place where the heart and mind arrive with mutual acknowledgement,

knowing the lack of happiness

likens to a flower longing to have its petals open at sunrise

and accepts its seedling’s slow growth

and its many weathered storms

has brought it to this level of being whole

which is what happiness, once achievesd

strives to just be.