I am asked, what does joy look like beyond survival?

My lolo is here. He is always here in stillness. The sharp contrast of his voice to the trees. In the driveway of our family home, he waved at every passerby. I cherish the dollar he gave me for chichirria and mourn that I spent it. I don’t know if our bodies ever knew rest. Beyond our psoas muscles and shoulders. I know the body keeps the score. Imagination is the only refuge we have. How many more years do we give to survival? I walk from the elementary school where I work to my car and gasp at the miracle that is leaves against wind. So this is the divine timing they speak of. I walk through, a personal curtain. For a second, I’m the queen Lolo promised I was when I was 4 years old, plastic bucket on my head, the frayed hand-me-down duster swishing against my legs. Mouth open to the wind is the closest I’ve been to touching God. This is my kingdom. This is our kingdom. What if we stayed so still we sank into the earth? What if there were more than 10,000 leagues? I count my blessings by the number of iced coffees and books I have in my room. I watch my sister breathe and know that each intake is a gift. My lolo is no longer here, but joy remains where the pot is hot. I look over my shoulder and my lola’s back is straight. I open my hands and find daisies in my palms. I arrange them in a vase for my mother. I drape myself under layers of blankets. How much more can I say to define joy as safety? Where this is joy, there is surrender. And in this surrender, I let it carry me to sleep.