Have you seen the fantasy film from the 80s, "The Neverending Story"? The one where the world of dreams and fantasies is threatened because wishes and hopes from the real world are lacking?
A fierce child warrior is sent to save the childlike empress, but not before he must visit the Southern Oracle and get past its three gates. The second gate requires him to look into a mirror surrounded by snow and ice. The mirror doesn't show his physical reflection, but that of his true self. To paraphrase the film, "Men who think they are very brave find they are cowards, and run away in horror."
There have been too many times when I've been walking the streets here, thinking about the experience, that the Southern Oracle's second gate comes to mind. This is where men find out their true nature.
Stripped of conveniences most of us grew up with, money, heat, privacy, personal transportation, time, sleep, rest...what's left but a more raw version of ourselves? Or rather, what's left but raw ego? It is that thing that makes us work a little harder, the thing that makes us want to be better than the next guy, the thing that makes us worry we're not good enough. The thing that eats away at our spirit, those wishes and dreams Fantasia thrives off of.
I remember reading a story in the paper about an NYU freshman jumping off the top of an NYU building, killing himself. And maybe the transformation in me had taken place because I wasn't surprised, not one small bit. The lack of it wasn't due to a desensitization to human suffering, it wasn't because I had seen crime and tragedy and was used to hearing about destitute circumstances. And it wasn't because I'd considered killing myself, so felt a kind of empathy, and therefore apathy to the outcome. It was because I understood completely why a kid fresh out of bumble fuck USA could feel so alone, so underachieving, and so grievously disappointed with the fantasy of New York, that he might think taking a short leap...could solve his problems. You're probably thinking that kid was messed up to begin with, maybe he was. But my point is that surrounded by the suburban bliss I came from, hearing that story would have had me incredulous. After living in the place this kid chose to take his life in, I kind of got it.
Happiness is a choice. Let's think about this: If we waited to enjoy the moments in life in which happiness came to us, perfect days of bliss...we'd be happy for approximately 111 hours, out of approximately 700,000. After puberty exactly how much time do we have in which there is no worry about money, love interests, debt and wanting what we can't have? If that's what we focus on, well then...sad life. See? So happiness is a choice, but is it as contagious as sadness and depression? If I could quantify "misery loves company" and prove the theory, I would. In fact, I have a city of about 8 million people that suggests proof pretty strongly.
What in the world am I rambling about? This place, if you're not careful, will drain your spirit. The extent of which is directly proportional with your attachment to who and what you were in another life, the life you lived before you came here. That is to say, how strongly you identify with who you thought you were before the Oracle gave you a glimpse of who you really are.
No matter where you are, no matter how down the people are around you. No matter how greatly they sigh, how cynical their remarks, how many times they tell you you're naive, or how much you accidentally overdraw your bank account, Choose happiness. : )
A friend recently said to me regarding a life change, "It's easier said than done." To which I replied, "But not necessarily as difficult as the statement implies." Meaning give it a try. My old man likes to say, "Sometimes the hardest thing in life is just showing up."
I was on gchat today with bunnifer and he kind of...was in an impatient mood and flipped his shit a little. If you're reading this Bun, you did. : )
