On the bus, homeward bound. Nain Parinde floating through the quiet sense of peace settled upon the other commuters on a half-filled bus in the dark evening speckled with twinkling evening lights. Somehow, suddenly, I realized I had been smiling. Smiling to myself, yes, but that simple quiet smile that is less a smile of facial musculature and more of the type surfacing from deep within. My sense of self was imbued with a great contentment.
It occurred to me that half my sense of being might be attributed to the music creating the right mod, and even more beautiful was the sheer coincidence of that exact song playing at that very moment, accompanying my skimming of pages of the old and well-thumbed notebook wherein I write these thoughts; reading old memories of a past self that had been waiting, longing, and dreaming...
The juxtaposition further heightened this sense of tranquility: the longing of the past superimposed on its fulfillment in present. That is when it occurred to me, in gauging the credibility of my mellowed euphoria, that while I was exquisitely content for various wonderful reasons, I could not yet say that I was entirely satisfied on all counts; lingering on periphery was still yet a great void that stretched on to a distance immeasurable, a lingering longing in hopes of reunion, a pause of bated breath -- it occurred to me, that this was contentment. This balance, so precarious, teetering, yet maintained, this acceptance, this gratitude, this pervading sense of self, in all ways possible, past, present and future, all threaded together through, within and extending beyond all sense of measure, yes, this was contentment.