Who – or what – carries happiness?
Is it the beholder? The setting? The experience?
Memory? Or is it simply you?
Where does happiness find its home, where it is instead engulfed in the vast hurricane of emotions present in this vast world, full of seven billion people (and counting) that all feel some types of way throughout a single day, hour, or even minute? It must be tiring having to constantly flit between the minds of so many persons, without ever getting to stay for longer than… a few hours? I’d say that’s the most general, national average anybody could come up with. Since happiness can be tiny or large or ginormous, anyway. But maybe the lack of a proper, permanent shelter is what maintains happiness as such a hard thing to “get.” Maybe that’s why sometimes it’s the recollection of its past presence that fills you up with a filtered memory, or it’s the food that makes you happy rather than the company (because we’ve all been there, and even happiness knows that food triumphs phonies).
If happiness could attain a genuine, well-kept and nurtured shelter, it’ll be beyond an amazing guest. I can imagine its golden arms engulfing the entire little world that is its owner’s like the softest, safest blanket. It’ll shine an endless light onto all things dark and personal, providing an ethereal assurance that after these struggles, everything will be okay.
So many people don’t even have that. Or aren’t willing to do so.
Where can those warm, welcoming golden arms wrap around, then? Certainly not the mind and world of an owner whose only weather is forlorn grey rain. Or angry tornadoes that follow an awful lingering heat wave. Or a place where dawn is at the brink of shore but never truly rising.
All happiness wants is an open place to stay. Very much like how the rest of us wanders in humanity, as well.
We can truly become best friends. But even the real world, its inhabitants, its sins and mistakes and unforgiving cruelty will do anything to prevent it. Often driven by selfishness, these forces will do anything to keep one’s heart dark and uninviting and it’s not the fault of the heart as it is for the world that frequently forgets how small happiness can be to light a furnace.
Happiness is compact, and is welcome to everyone.
That, along with money and Politics, is at the forefront of leading this world through generations – so much that it’s a wonder that not enough Philosophy and History books touch upon the subject. Do you agree that war, poverty, slavery, hierarchy, women’s lack of equal pay, factory fires, Japanese internment camps, pillaging of Vietnam and South Korea, the Armenian Genocide, communism, children sex rings, class hierarchies, gangs, black markets, pharmaceutical corruption, opioid addictions, and more would’ve happened if people were simply happy with what they’ve had (in unique regards to class, which is an entirely different discussion in itself)?
Likewise, Aristotle felt the need to overwhelmingly prove that only his theories of tragedy and poetry were correct in bringing about the perfect satisfaction and perfection, while Freud went so far as to cite (the desire for? the mental, sub-conscious thought of?) incest as the reason sex is stirred in a human being.
Though these are just my quaint little guesses. And I feel bad for happiness having to fly here, there, around that end and back to this start, just to settle. Even contentment must have an easier time getting around, and especially complacency. Indifference also must be practically adopted everywhere at one point, with often a lack of ability to be in so many shelters.
We’re exactly the same. All searching for that one something within a billion and one crevices.