The Surface Tension of Grapes
For Sarah who said choose and Jamie looking with me
Much of my book explores the interdependence of joy and safety. My contention is that it is nearly impossible to experience joy when the body is in survival mode- mentally, physically, spiritually.
However, what else is true is that tiny sensual-somatic micro-moments can, in my lived experience, jolt us into a tiny chamber of delight, and that surprise can reroute the psyche while the jaw, and tongue (or eyes and ears or fingertips or feet) are just beginning to process the input.
I love grapes. I haven’t had a really good one in years. I hesitate to buy them, even after checking their squish factor, because I would rather go without than be disappointed (now there’s a revelation). But the market was bursting with heavy clusters of them a few days ago, and all the signs pointed toward a yes.
Homer called the sea wine-dark as the Greeks had no specific words for blue. I will borrow them back here and add violet and orchid to tell you about the colors, each grape no bigger than a thumb nail, the bag stuffed with at least ten clusters. Could I eat them in time? Yes I could, and this morning their surface tension (thank you Instagram) is just as delightful as day one. Less tart- tilting sweet- means by tomorrow they will go soft and I won’t want them anymore. So later I will make them into juice or add them to chicken salad to see their mission through.
The peonies, too, are hard to keep up with. They bloom and bow so quickly and what began as a party of bouquets, moves to dropped petals and swampy vase water, so fast.
One dog stretches a leg skyward and I pause, adoring. Right under that is another surface tension. I do not want to wake them because I have work to do. I look away.
Laughter, when shared, can double me over and sometimes roll me onto the floor breathless. It has been awhile since I laughed that hard. We cannot laugh that hard every day. It, too, is a kind of surface tension that when released is just as relieving as good hard tears (which it also can bring about). Mixed in is a kind of surprise that would became a more permeable membrane if we crossed it over and over. We would regulate to it and the funny would be less funny.
I am getting that way with horror. My feed is flecked with depravity and while I still flinch a little, I rarely think to talk about it. I am becoming inured to it. Powerlessness and distance help that along. But so does repetition. The mid-field feelings like contentment, steadiness, sadness, boredom, anxiety- they can linger and are more rooted in disposition than circumstance.
I talk a lot about joy, mostly with friends who worry that we do not find enough of it in our homes or work or families. And then I wonder how we would recognize it or what we do when it pops, like a tight grape, into our field.
One bodily sign might be a face that lights from within. Maybe you exhale. Maybe your eyes tear up. Maybe you burst out in laughter or gasp at beauty. Maybe you sigh into a hug. Maybe you smile at your sleeping dogs and smile bigger watching them swim because their joy is your joy. Maybe it is marveling over your chickens or stopping to take in the wind pushing through a canopy of leaves. Maybe you slow down as your toes touch grass or sand or slide into soft slippers or clean socks.
Maybe you think this is enough. Or you have an urge to tell someone you love about this thing that happened. Maybe you feel a sense of play rising up in you and aren’t quite so serious for just right now.
Other ways to notice you are signaling you are open to joy.
Children seek you out. Dogs see you as a friend. Birds linger. Your inbox fills with memes your people are sure you will like. Your hands unclench. Your shoulder drops. Your lungs expand for more than usual air.
I am a little afraid of joy. Because it pops. It is best to have contentment riding under the moment. Gratitude riding under the moment. A prayer ready for when the arresting moment settles and your reflexive state reveals itself anew. Complaint, criticism, worry, - they have a tension too and it takes a toll. Maybe joy is akin to a flower garden. It didn’t just spring up. The ground was readied. The stalks secured. The buds watched over like hatchling eggs. Will it be today? Will today be joyful? Is today the day the beauty blooms? Did I make myself ready? Do I have vases to catch all the blossoms? Friends with whom to share it?
Can I let it go?
