What is happiness? Is it the condition of life to be always in this state? We feel a sense of abjection if we are not experiencing this condition in perpetuum. Only when we lose the essential tenets of life: health, love and freedom that we see the folly of this mode of thinking. The quest for happiness creates the most unhappiness in us. Hence, the imperative to live in the present to experience ourselves existing at any moment in time.
Be it a flower I see and smell, feel the breeze caress my face: observe ourself existing outside the sphere of our body. We should seek to better our condition but not be under the illusion that this path leads to enlightenment. Our culture perpetuates this myth; its very existence depends on it, we consume in the quest for happiness. We are promised that if we consume this or that product, it is the vehicle to obtain happiness. The irony is that we are consuming ourselves out of existence. Acknowledge the sadness and disappointment try to learn the best we can from these experiences and try to improve our responses to their reoccurrence, as surely they will.
Life is a trial because nature deems it so. If all was emollient and smooth, what would prepare us for the uncertainties: the curveball that nature throws at us? We were created from improbabilities, and thus we must be ready for the unexpected. We are accidents, life was an accident. We are, therefore, the product of chaos born out of destruction. A religion that promises us eternal life is thus folly. Man is God. For, the universe we see is our creation. In art, we create:
unite the internal and external: open your imagination,
let the unseen be seen,
free the mind’s eyes from the bind of sight and reason.
My heart sang, upon hearing ‘The Rites of Spring’ — felt and tasted the music: my senses drowned, I experienced iridescent lights. I walked into the desert, encountering strange creatures — posited either side of me. I saw yellow, the sky an intense blue. I heard a preacher preach: telling me that he was the redeemer of the soul. Speckled dark sprayed paint coloured the sky. I became a silhouetted figure against the horizon. A diffused, painterly darkness filled the sky. Every note erased me until I was no more, every molecule dispersed into space, slowly, one at a time, they rose from the ground, gravity had ceased, and so was the impact of the sounds. All I heard was silence. Hushed by the rush, the fabric of time implode into the infinitesimal.
Cymbals crashing as light shimmers in my mind gave me sight to see the colours of the rainbow, vivid echoes flashes. The sounds of the drums have my heart captive: they now beat in unison. The flutes have me wandering through summer meadows. The trumpets blare startles — roosting birds take flight in a golden sky.