I am filled with the love of the universal power within

Something in you keeps voting to continue. It doesn't consult you about it. In the worst weeks of a life a person still gets up, still eats something, still turns towards a window, and no decision was made about any of it.

Call it whatever fits your beliefs. The name matters much less than noticing it's there, and that it has never once required your permission or your good mood in order to operate.

Being filled, then, isn't a state you have to generate before it counts. It's something already running underneath, on the days you would describe as empty.