The practice of happiness

it is a generational story as it is a routine.  I am happy–sic–that I believe I can change myview and mood to a happier stance with mental manipulation.  Conscious and deliberate action.

Everything has a story–the lilacs outside my window, the cup holding my tea, the tossed treasures in my desk basket.  These stories influence my feelings.  I like lilacs, and might go out and pick one before i go to work.  I love the little funny things in the basket–notes, pens, an intricate carving of Ganesha, an egg cup holding paper clips–they all present on my desk because they soothe my mind as I lazily wake to the day.  I have struggled to carve out this little view.

And this writing is a practice of happiness, to remember the divine’s touch, scent and caring–no matter how She shows Herself.  “Indeed” She says, nodding at me from within the crow that prances on my deck railing.  “Indeed.”

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