Serenity

Today I reflect on the nature of serenity, and the general state that comes with peace of mind. To illustrate this feeling I have included a recent photograph of our resident furball. She's just come in from the cold, a veritable cat icicle. She immediately goes to the bathroom and plops down in front of the heat register, which she treats like her own little roaring fireplace. As she dozes off, I can't help but marvel at the serenity that envelopes her.

Serenity in us humans is along the same lines, though often more complicated. I think of the peace that comes from watching my wife as she is engrossed in a book. The room is quiet, save for the occasional rustle of pages. Her focus never wavers. She is engaged in a silent task that affords her much enjoyment. Is this the definition of serenity?

Human serenity seems to involve the simple comforts of pursuing a process. My own interests as another example: I slather adhesive across a sheet of quarter-inch thick MDF and afix it to the underside of a polystyrene panel. This process is another serenity-- engaging tools that work and materials that come together. These are my enjoyment and my quiet satisfaction. And a quote from the A-Team: "I love it when a plan comes together."

I concur.