Joy rising

I am sitting here quietly in a quiet room. The only sounds that are perceptible are those of the birds twittering outside, the wind that occasionally raises its voice to howl and the staccato tick-tock of the clock. I wonder if this is how Thoreau felt as he sat next to the Walden Pond and thought up his writings. But he must have also felt the sun warm on his cheek, the breeze leafing through his hair and the moist earth under him pulsating with the growth of a million things.

At times like these, when the moment seems full, with nothing lacking, and oddly enough, utterly empty, devoid of anything, when the past has lost its hold over you and the future its ability to evoke fear or anticipation, when the moment is all there is, startlingly clear in its simplicity, its infiniteness, one feels a joy rising. Like a single note, it rises from deep within, sonorous and crystal clear. In wave upon wave. Then, like an exquisite fragrance it spreads in all directions until the whole being is filled and trilling with joy. The world, with its pretty or miserable images, falls away and you are left with being, just being. 

Painting : 'In Contemplation' by Ravi Varma
Source : Internet