Three hundred and sixty five days,
a stifled laugh.
A covert tear,
a time-worn regret,
and the momentary bliss –
of an unexpected joy.
These days pass me by, gently–like a Summer breeze blowing olive blades of grass–and I sense that I am reaching a point where soon I will have more days that lie behind me than before me. And I look inside at that dusty vacant lot where a soul used to be and feel lost. An inner melancholy and sorrow permeates the being and small joys frequent less and less. Do we learn to be happy, or do we learn to be sad?
The more I learn, the less I know. The less I know, the more I learn.
What is happiness?
What is sorrow?
What is a life lived well?
I’ve heard it said before that we become the quality of our thoughts. And so to seek happiness we must find reasons to be happy with our world and also with those who share it with us. The happy man finds no fault, nor places blame, upon himself or others. The happy man accepts things as they come. The sorrowful laments it all and grows dull and tired. And if life is neither good nor bad, but a reflection of our inner worlds, then I have lamented on misfortunes many times. And a dark veil thus clouds my vision and keeps me from seeing the world as I once did as a young child who knew just enough to dream and find excitement and mystery – even in the mundane.
I lament for that child. And I do myself no favors.
To all of those who have transgressed me in the past, I do forgive you.
To all of those who find fault with me – I am human and I am ignorant.
I beg your pardon. Reflecting upon misunderstood confrontations of the past and the reactions of others who have felt slighted by something which I’ve said or done that I could never really understand – I likely remain oblivious to its cause. I spend so little time trying to understand how others think or feel that I fumble in my attempt to do so, and often step on some toes in the process.
But it is not easy for me to understand you. It does not come naturally to me and so I focus on myself with the intention of doing no harm to others. You are an external thing. I can not control you. So why ought I predict your moods and thoughts? I have trouble enough identifying my own moods and encrypted thoughts.
Meditation. Contemplation. Words scribbled and scattered on torn-out pages.
In search for the hidden truth that happiness is not a destination, but the stripping away of a lifetime of toxic thoughts and experiences which sour the Universe. Life is challenging, but it is good, and every animal fights for the right to live because they want to remain living. And children who are born into happy homes are happy. And children who are born into neutral homes are happy. And children born into unhappy homes find reason to be happy. Because life is magic. And then the magic begins to fade…