Imagine immeasurable joy, Marcus. A surfeit of happiness, so great that it can afford us no more pleasure. Will it lead us towards sorrow or at least a numbing vacuum, just so we can begin to enjoy being happy again.
The zen postulate of the empty tea cup? Even joy needs an empty heart, that it can begin to fill with its magic.
A threshold beyond which it ceases to matter? When it begins to slosh and spill? When it is just an ugly stain spreading slowly over the white lace tablecloth?
How will you know how much joy is enough? When even a whiff of sorrow is always too much?
again the rain clouds gather
darkening the evening sky
she wonders what the sun is thinking