to be the sun

a woomba womba woomba womba woomba womba woomba womba we were singing while we were cleaning the toilets and then matthieu was walking around the kitchen strumming the four stringed guitar with a beatific smile on his face and juliette and i began to dance and that is when the feeling of joy came.
and after a shower i ran to the park i don't mind if i have barefeet and only a t-shirt and it is cold i have the green grass beneath my feet and the joy of running the joy of a beating heart
la joie de vivre
la joie de la joie
la joie de quoi
la joie du paix
the joy of being
the joy of being simple
the joy of simplicity
the simplicity of joy
Beauty in simplicity
the joy of language
the joy of creating
the joy of colours
the joy of music
the joy of fyuzik
the joy of invented words

the joy of the grass beneath one's feet


"You have the most beautiful eyes i have seen"

"no, Your eyes are the most beautiful"

mmm     Beauty


i said:  sensorial pleasures are like the icing on the cake of existential joy
rachel said:  i have to write that down



the woman who stopped and gave me a lift when i was hitchhiking to Taizé radiated happiness and warmth   she made me think of the woman of african way-back origin called papa in the novel The Shack.   when her companion said:  today is a grey day.  there is no sun  she, always smiling and radiating, said: moi je suis le soleil.





and it was true