It is raining.
I am reminded of this paragraph from the book "Nine Gates: Entering the Mind of Poetry," by Jane Hirshfield.
"Difficulty itself may be a path toward concentration - expended effort weaves us into a task, and successful engagement, however laborious, becomes also a labor of love. The work of writing brings replenishment even to the writer dealing with painful subjects or working out formal problems, and there are times when suffering's only open path is through an immersion in what is. The eighteenth-century Urdu poet Ghalib described the principle this way: "For the raindrop, joy is in entering the river - / Unbearable pain becomes its own cure."
For the raindrop, joy is in entering the river.
Unbearable pain becomes its own cure.
I am feeling well today, delightfully enthused.