residual | part 1
joy: it’s a funny thing. you think at first
it’s meant to burst
like fireworks in the velvet sky
but it looks more like a mountain stretching high,
cracking the air we breathe –
and it’s we who choose to stay in its midst
or to leave.
it’s happiness that’s the hummingbird,
purring with its whizzing wings,
self-satisfied with the nectar it brings,
but never sits and never sings —
just flees, sans a word.
joy. it’s a path which must be chosen. it is steady, it is frozen
between all that the monkeymind desires.
those choices common man (you, I) admires.
how could a soul ever deviate?
we’ve got to look beyond
our past — our fate.
else we’ll die as potted plants do : staring at a wall.
while cognition oft wants to kill,
If one pattern of thinking has ever kept me from moving on, it’s that of how something was supposed to be or feel. And never more so than when everlasting happiness was supposed to be the result.
I’m not trying to be a curmudgeon here. I like bliss. I like euphoria. They are not purposeless. Yet how sudden they are in their ebb and flow; it’s borderline cruel.
And I’ve found it to be particularly more so when it comes to putting the weight of expectation on how achievements should deliver those feelings. The ecstasy that’s supposed to be there — if success and recognition are the only end goals, and doing the thing that leads you there for its own sake is not enough — does not come.
Is ecstasy what any of us really wants most, though? What I mean is, the ‘buzz’ — the ‘rev’ — is fun. But maybe it’s not necessarily supposed to last.
I’ve decided, personally, it’s a gentle sense of well-being I actually crave: something slower in coming, and less dependent on circumstance. Yet somehow, maybe, it is more meaningful.
Maybe I’m not alone in that?
And I could call what makes it flow by its chemical name, sure, but sometimes I wonder if it — if joy — runs deeper than that.