Way to Happiness

Its funny how each of the poet and writer wants to find that one solution – that one way – to attain happiness. And yet, all one writes about is human miseries, those plights of separation and desires of human creations. It becomes an eternal process of sickness and healing – each offering his own set of solutions, his own limited ceilings. Some find solace in nature, for others domesticity is a blissful sight. Some desire endless wandering, some have post modernist distorted sights.

So the question remains – what is peace? Where is happiness? Is there any possibility of bliss? What is emancipation? Imaginations keep tossing numerous toasts for some consumption – some create heaven and hell and get lost in human junction. There are people who try to find answers in the stars – astronomy and similar fictions. In monkeys does our specie collide – this is science’s function.

So here arises a confused head – attracted to many planets of large suction. They jump and collide, yet find no decent solution.  Some try to have that blind faith deep inside the lap of conservative dominance. Some try to isolate from this all – out into that nature immense. People claim to have seen sprits and those forces beyond human apprehension. While some simply smile and shun those acclaimed narrations.

Yet world remains distorted amidst numerous pieces of stories – all overlapping each other causing difficulty becoming obstructions in some or the other orbit and its function. Mind tries to find one workable model of universe and its functionality. Yet others deny life and its so called artificiality. Saints or criminals, common men or gypsies – all grab hold of a stereo-typical category and try to justify their own side. And yet, there comes a point where all faiths collide.

And then there is another group of those who deny to compromise. They detest all categories and enhance their own size. They consider themselves unique with their own collection of colors. A piece from here and a piece there and they define their own selves. And yet they remain isolated in that large world so used to categorization. And all their lives they seek to find their own utopian nation.

There enters various institutes to define those things considered ‘normative’. And all there lives people try to mould themselves to that constructed shift. They feel out of place, and remain dissatisfied. All their life gets wasted to reach that mirage of far sight. Struggle and struggle and yet the journey has no end. It all is after all about journey – becomes the stand. And then the man dies – rest in peace – says the world. There in soil rests those decayed ashes – all curled.

Its funny how people spend their life preparing for their dream death. In each moment we die while trying to figure out the rest. And there die their once seen dreams post-phoned to that ‘one day’. When all their priorities would be met with and they would have their heart’s say. Some things get fulfilled while others die with him. lost in those moments when they were dreamed to be amiss.

In imagination and desire gets lost those golden dreams. But is it possible to reach beside every dream’s stream?  So you convince yourself with here and now. Atleast this is good and you are managing it all on your own somehow. And yet that glitch inside to do what you desired. To do justice to that amber inside – all fired.

You look at the moon and visualize your mansion in its darker sight. Bit far in now but surely one day you would reach. But the dream repeats till the time you forget to dream at all. and life becomes maintaining your laboured halt and stall. And you consider it your reality with all your faith in fate. And none tries to change one’s given state.

And then in between enter those dark times, where man loses his rationality and blame Hellenic powers to blind. And guilt and other such concepts enter – making one’s life a panther. One sighs and complains or others he blames. Or some still know how to pretend. They call it an adventure sport – every bend. But the pain remains – thrusted between those lines – which enters one’s psyche during those twilight rhymes.

Some try to ignore it all – the trivialities of life. They live only in fictions – with those characters of literature of other times. And there they find no real threat but a mere relief. After all it was all a piece of literature – an awe created in every dream. And yet, whenso called reality hits them in real, they are taken aback – blaming it all upon those books which never taught him to deal with real ship-wrecks.

So what is that ideal solution to end all these mysteries, to put an end to categories and finish those gyres of histories. I guess,  we are well efficient to choose one of these choices. Yet if you are uncomfortable with these then there is only one option. Mind it, it has huge blames on auctions.

So the challenge includes getting aware of the fictionalities of these fictions and yet being mute about it. to work under a system and along with these functionalities – sit. To understand the practical effect these notions have upon our life and the harm caused to deny these all openly. After all literature is a bundle of opposites but meaning is impossible without its curry. So be aware and step out into a fictional world – and here I sit whirled – with yet another created definition, being fully aware of its impermanent station. 

 Mystical Wanderer