Maybe You’re Already Happy (Just Temporarily Confused)

[Image: “Just Look a Little Harder,” by John E. Simpson. (Photo shared here under a Creative Commons License; for more information, see this page at RAMH.)]

From whiskey river:

Humility

To a visitor who described
himself as a seeker after
Truth the Master said, “If
what you seek is Truth,
there is one thing you must
have above all else.”

“I know. An overwhelming
passion for it.”

“No. An unremitting readiness
to admit you may be wrong.”

(Anthony de Mello [source])

…and:

In the Mushroom Summer

Colorado turns Kyoto in a shower,
mist in the pines so thick the crows delight
(or seem to), winging in obscurity.
The ineffectual panic of a squirrel
who chattered at my passing gave me pause
to watch his Ponderosa come and go—
long needles scratching cloud. I’d summited
but knew it only by the wildflower meadow,
the muted harebells, paintbrush, gentian,
scattered among the locoweed and sage.
Today my grief abated like water soaking
underground, its scar a little path
of twigs and needles winding ahead of me
downhill to the next bend. Today I let
the rain soak through my shirt and was unharmed.

(David Mason [source])

Not from whiskey river:

Positivity

“Anyway, it isn’t forever,” Chris said,
“eventually you’re dead.” And we laughed

Besides, everything is better now. Not us
but implants, blenders, children, heart attacks.
There’s never been a better time to be alive
than when you are. If you are. Black-throated
blue warbler says chewchewchewchewchewww
drawing the last chew out like a sucking drainpipe
to say he has mated and is satisfied. Say what
you will about that. His joy is uncontainable

and yet it has a form, a measure, to make it clear
he’s not upset or feeling anxious. And if he’s bragging,
well, it’s no shame to brag that you’re happy.

Honeybees cavorting on the goldenrod are working
toward a common goal they’ll never see achieved.
They lay down the walls of their cathedral of honeycomb
and will not cope the spire, busy in the present task,
trusting that the work continues. I’d like to write
a children’s book called everybody dies. Upbeat, of
course, and pragmatic. You only got so many
days. Don’t think about death; when you’re
ready, death will think about you. Go out
tonight with your friends, like Chris, who went out
big or not at all. Have a ball. Plan ahead.

(D.A. Powell [source])

…and:

[Twoflower said,] “You see, last night it occurred to me, I thought, well, the thing is, all this traveling and seeing things is fine but there’s also a lot of fun to be had from having been. You know, sticking all your pictures in a book and remembering things.”

“There is?” Rincewind asked.

Added the librarian, an orangutan, “Oook?”

“Oh, yes. The important thing about having lots of things to remember is that you’ve got to go somewhere afterward where you can remember them, you see? You’ve got to stop. You haven’t really been anywhere until you’ve got back home. I think that’s what I mean.”

(Terry Pratchett [source])

…and:

The Work of Happiness

I thought of happiness, how it is woven
Out of the silence in the empty house each day
And how it is not sudden and it is not given
But is creation itself like the growth of a tree.
No one has seen it happen, but inside the bark
Another circle is growing in the expanding ring.
No one has heard the root go deeper in the dark,
But the tree is lifted by this inward work
And its plumes shine, and its leaves are glittering.

So happiness is woven out of the peace of hours
And strikes its roots deep in the house alone:
The old chest in the corner, cool waxed floors,
White curtains softly and continually blown
As the free air moves quietly about the room;
A shelf of books, a table, and the white-washed wall—
These are the dear familiar gods of home,
And here the work of faith can best be done,
The growing tree is green and musical.

For what is happiness but growth in peace,
The timeless sense of time when furniture
Has stood a life’s span in a single place,
And as the air moves, so the old dreams stir
The shining leaves of present happiness?
No one has heard thought or listened to a mind,
But where people have lived in inwardness
The air is charged with blessing and does bless;
Windows look out on mountains and the walls are kind.

(May Sarton [source])