Why is it so difficult to write when eveything is fine? After mindlessly surfing through this mitigated scum called the internet I have come to the point of ultimate frustration where the vein in my head is just a throb away from splaterring the last left illusion of sanity that I hold in my grey area. It is quite unnerving not to be able to put forth my thoughts and expess gratitude, maybe, for having a perfectly pleasant f**king day…..ahhh…now I feel a bit better.
It is not so absurd, this notion, that being miserable may actually be an absolute necessity for me, at the least, to write. I have noticed this morose phenomenon reccur with the alarming alarcity of Dubya’s claim of WMD in “I-rack”. Although all my efforts to aggravate my ever irritated self, or anyone else around me, are all in vain, it is becoming increasingly difficult not to accept my ephemeral moment of peace.
If everything is at equilibrium, content within it’s state of self, it becomes ardous to extract a sense of life from the situation, which is infinitely paradoxial when juxtaposed with one’s purpose in life, as there is a finality to it’s function. This misery that we try to ellude, results from our efforts towards the same. Then how do we find that everlasting, all elusive peace or to be more pragmatic why should we continue to do so?
It would be impossible to identify the scantily spread moments of joy without knowing and expereincing the opposite state of contention. As is true to the nature of existance of life itself where the trueness of it only becomes apparent when it is viewed as a reflection of death. Most would find this to be an extreme observation but it is an inherent postulate of mortality. Misery, despite it’s strong negative connotation, has made it possible for us to think differently and evolve beyond the conventional, routine and the mundane. It’s realisation acts as a stimulus to change which would otherwise be a non-entity in an environment of perpetual stagnation. It not only promotes rationality of thought which is seldom seen in delirious elation.
It is relatively easier to identify and acknowledge sadness than joy, but it is as much difficult to express or part with it. Happiness needs no validation while misery seeks one. To be miserable is more of a perception than a pre-requisite to the prevailing circumstances. It is more than obvious that this is indistinguishable, which is condoned by the abundant presence of it in our daily lives. It has become such an intrinsic part of our existance that the absence of unhappiness is unsettling, unnatural. In this overtly goal-oriented environment misery has become a sign of progession and genuine effort. It has become essential to be miserable to be respected and heard. To be miserable is to be succesful.
Why then does it cause so much discomfort and sadness in one’s life? If misery is so wonderful why has it become so important to strive for happiness? Probably the answer lies in undestanding the trancendence of this equally veritable state of mind. All aspects of our existance are transient, impermanant. It may seem in a moment that it is irrevertible, which is true for only that moment as it has moved on. A culmination of this fugacious entities is what comprises life in it’s entirety.
So I wait, with bated breathe and longing heart full of hope, for the promised moment of persistant unadulterated misery. Till then I make do with less prolific but exuberent sense of peace and calm. And I have an inkling that it is just around the corner.
p.s. The title idea is borrowed from one of my favourite songs by Oasis, one of the great contemporary alternative bands, listen on, I bet u will love it.
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