Life is hard. Often, it is brutally hard. The battles seem so steep, very much uphill, and acceptance is often a bitter medicine to choke on rather than something to swallow in quiet resignation, in complete surrender.

Mentally, emotionally, physically—many have known our share of pain—or more—a pain that has no rhyme or reason—not when you are in the thick of it. I used to think that was what life was all about—fear, shame, isolation, ridicule, depression. It ruled my days. It ruled my nights.  It overtook the feelings that begged to differ, that insisted otherwise to believe in something more.

Yet now I get it. I wish I could recall the first time I got it, had wrapped my brain around it, into those glimpses of why life truly has value, and my place in this world has tremendous meaning. I'd love to ponder upon it for quite some time, if ever there was such an exact epiphany, and relish it in its new-found beginnings.  Like a child who first grasped hold of life with wonder, I want to prize the bright dawning of such hope, never to let it set into darkness.

Those are the moments I treasure. These moments of bliss, I think of them as. When you simply get it, in spite of the circumstances that impede the joy, and you push past such things and press on, to stumble upon the meaningful, the vast potential. Yes, in spite of the conditions of the world-- that reveal that what it contains is not always as beautiful as a sweet dream —but a fraud—I see value above the mess. Such beauty now doesn't seem like such an illusion.

And sometimes, those moments of bliss aren't just for the blink of an eye. Sometimes, they turn into hours. And sometimes, they are days.