i wonder what the threshold of my happiness is. there are weeks at a time when i function on an unpredictably high level of happiness. and this, i mean today, is the beginning of one of those weeks i believe.
when i was in highschool i used to wake up each morning saying to myself that i would not sin at all that day. i would focus solely on the act of not sinning. it was weird, because it seemed like i was almost always put to the test immediately. and it was the most difficult thing to remember to do for longer than 5 minutes. i would drive to school and by the time i got out of my car and walked to class i'd realize that i'd spent the last 10 minutes most probably sinning my soul away without even thinking about it. the rules of the game would prevent me from starting up again until the next morning.
when i'm happiest i think that a million things can get done and i'm actually about two or three times more productive and creative than i normally am. the happiness is distracting even, i can't focus on people and what they're saying to me, i only exist to them in this odd dreamlike state that i attribute to tiredness.
around that same time in highschool i had my one and only vision of an angel. it came down from my ceiling and handed me a piece of paper. on it, i understood my face would be represented, yet when i grabbed it from the angel it was blank. a blank piece of paper where my face should have been. i spent a long time trying to figure it out but never got anything from it other than some ominous hint towards my self identity.
yesterday i was absolutely happy to be approached by a homeless man. he was drunk off his ass but he quickly began relating to me the fact and history of his life as a child of jerry garcia. he, the homeless man, had grown up with amazing powers. right there in front of me he narrated to me how he was fixing up little time vortexes and sending them off. one of the more remarkable things that he did, and which he got in trouble for from the aliens (yes, benevolent aliens that he says were playful and happy tricksters) was when he stole a bubble gum machine from a store and sent it out into space and made it change into all sorts of playful energy. as the bus came and i told him regretfully that i had to work (at which point he was trying to convince a nearby couple that he would dance and sing ozzie osbourne for their baby) he told me to make sure that i enjoyed my work because there was so much out there.
shortly after that my work friends were discussing the outrageous amount of tax that was being taken out of the $100,000 dollars or so each that they had exercised from their stock options this year. that afternoon my palm pilot came in the mail.
i have an obsessive habit of thinking of mean or demented things that i could say unexpectedly. like, to alice1 say, "everything link says is true, i have only pretended to be nice in order to get support for my own selfish gain." the problem is, these thoughts come in my head but i'm not sure if they are words that are true or not. i could say that, or i could say the opposite. but what decides it? more selfish gain tactics, or do i like her after all. what if i told my sister that i was glad my father was dead. that's probably not true, but even if it was would i be able to say it. so many other things are too crude even to mention. is the mere fact that words occur in your mind enough for them actually be yours. it seems unfair that it would be, almost as if they had come to own you -- to determine your opinion -- even if you didn't want them to.
do you put those words into your diaries. the first things to occur to you. or is the second thing to occur to you the true you. or is it the third. or do you have to take all three and really do some soul searching to find the true you. who do i like. who do i hate. what do you mean to me and what makes me do the things i do.
when i'm happiest is also when i think about the most morbid things. they gain significance from the high mountaintop of my creative joy. i think about how i can take the most painful experience i know of, which is usually one of the following:
- once an 70 year old man confessed to me that his life had been a waste. that he had wasted the potential that he knew he had, and that he wanted to tell me, who was still young, that i was actually using my potential and he was glad to see it happening. what can i say to that kind of painful truth.
- when my father died my mother was obviously devastated. she had not worked in years and had sacrificed everything for the marriage. she confessed to me that she had planned on having 40 more years with my father, and that she felt very alone. knowing that my mother was alone and that i was soon going to move away to go to college, is a very painful scenario for me to imagine
with these thoughts, that easily cause me to feel grief no matter where i am, i try to multiply them. imagine two mothers, two old men, and then twenty, and then one hundred. and i try to feel the sorrow that jesus felt in the garden of gethsemane. because i am so happy.
do you ever do this?