I am Happiness

I am a liar. Like two hooligans unknowingly caught in the act on camera, my left brain tells a different story than what my right brain experienced. And when confronted with the cinematic evidence, my left brain works very hard to put a positive spin on their actions. I am a liar.

I am stupid. Like two bureaucrats justifying ever-increasing expenditures, my left brain tells my right brain that the sacrifices are for the greater good and my right brain believes; passionately. And when the pain of sacrifice becomes too much to bear, my left brain works very hard to create a new story accounting for their actions. I am stupid.

I am confused. Like two schizophrenics convincing one another of their sanity, my left brain shapes the disorder, anxiety, excitability, and disorientation experienced moment-to-moment by my right brain into a fiction worthy of a Pulitzer. And when categorized as fiction, my left brain works very hard to convince the committee that their actions are not fiction. I am confused.

I am useless. Like two mid-level managers grumbling about the latest software upgrade, my left brain reassures my right brain that organic creativity will always be more valuable than mere algorithms. And when their meager bonuses reflect the uptick in sales, my left brain works very hard to persuade upper-level management that it was due to their actions and not a result of the new ordering system. I am useless.

I am predictable. Like a counselor and an addict, my left brain works very hard (reasoning with my right brain) as an advocate of the greater rewards found in delayed gratification. And when the system consistently knows my right brain better than my left brain knows my right brain, my left brain works very hard (reasoning with my right brain) as an advocate for the greater rewards found in delayed gratification. I am predictable.

I am truthful. Like two disagreeable old curmudgeons arguing over anything and everything, my left brain tells my right brain that even though together they grasp reality, his perspective is slightly more important than hers. And when experience shows otherwise, my left brain works very hard to maintain. I am a liar...

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Synthesizing Happiness

I feel a need to expand on a thought from last week.

When I said "faith and ignorance are the basis of spirituality," I mean that faith and ignorance are inseparable and serve (respectively) as thesis and antithesis to the synthesis of spirituality; which then leads back to faith and ignorance and a never-ending quest for (unattainable) Truth and Wisdom. To practice faith without an active acknowledgement of ignorance is common and secular. Faith without an active acknowledgement of ignorance is merely religion.

Religion, (like the fast food of the culinary world), is cheap, gimmicky, accessible, often greasy, and encourages overindulgence.

Spirituality, (like planning and preparing a meal from scratch), is personal, judicious, demanding, nourishing, and requires an investment.

Regardless of the method, in our world one's hunger for answers is never completely or permanently quieted.

If in a particular moment, one believes they have all the answers and/or one believes they have no questions, there will come another moment.

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Far-Flung Happiness

This week it was brought to my attention that science has not extended life expectancy, science has mitigated the potential for premature death. Seventy-year-olds were not unheard of in previous centuries. Galileo died at 77 in 1642; Isaac Newton at 84 in 1727: Michelangelo at 88 in 1564. In recent decades, (as a percentage of the population), childhood mortality, death from infectious disease, and violent deaths are all on the decline. The natural life span of an individual human is much the same as it was several hundred years ago, (and perhaps several thousand years ago), yet average life expectancy continues to increase.

For many, this "progress" has changed the face of fear from an amorphous visage demanding ceremonial dogma to a determined countenance seeking meaningful purpose. Both instances require faith and ignorance; (necessary faith and unavoidable ignorance). This face of fear, (my face and your face and every human face that has ever peered out on Life), has not changed so much for several millennia. We are still searching.

It appears that the principal difference is that we are moving away from searching for meaning in death and moving toward searching for meaning in life. So in turn, as one approaches death, instead of finding solace and peace in the promise of an afterlife, more and more will find solace and peace in their personal legacy of accomplishments and contributions in this life. And though accomplishments and contributions may be somewhat more objective and measurable than esoteric worthiness, import is not. Some measure success by accumulated wealth. Some measure accomplishment by status, position, and power. Some measure contribution by reach and impact. Some measure achievement by perceived knowledge and learning. Some measure fulfillment by talent or looks. Some measure legacy by number of offspring. Yet to gauge actual import and consequence, I must acknowledge an ignorance of what will really matter to far-flung future generations, and I must take a leap of faith that what I choose, really matters. Even when it matters in this moment or in this lifetime to me and to those close by, I still have to choose and then have faith that it will continue to matter beyond my momentary animation.

Many are okay with what matters only in this moment or only in this lifetime. Why worry a pretty or powerful or wealthy or (presumedly) learned little face over far-flung future generations. Many have little or no concept or understanding of how quickly "what matters" changes. (Thirty years ago a large majority of us had never surfed the Web.) For many, what matters now will matter for the foreseeable future, (and for some of these the foreseeable future is this moment and maybe the next two or three), and how can the unforeseeable future matter if we cannot see it? And for one to live consistently in the moment for the moment translates to hasty conclusions based on heedless history perceived as maturity which translates to personal confidence in one's choices which translates to certainty in one's definition of meaningful purpose which translates to perceived (and possibly delusional) import and consequence which translates to "It's all about me" which translates to "head down and full steam ahead" which tramples all over faith and ignorance which are necessary elements of reasoned skepticism which is indispensable to serious consideration of alternative futures which (I believe) is essential to the ultimate survival of Humanity; which is why we must work to foresee the unforeseeable far-flung future generations.

These are our choices: 1) to continue "head down and full steam ahead" on our current trajectory, or 2) to acknowledge the necessity of faith and the inevitability of ignorance in order to consider multiple possibilities, and to perhaps reason, discuss, and choose, (for the moment), which alternative may best address what will really matter to far-flung future generations; and then, in the next moment, to reassess. If we choose skeptical reasoning, we must, (in each moment), determine what we believe will really matter from a plethora of possibilities including health, wealth, equality, subjective well-being, amortality, biodiversity, justice, breakneck technology, critical thinking, synergy, ethical reasoning, compassion, volitional effort, education, perseverance... Some possibilities are geared toward an acquisition of individual traits and skills, while implementation of some may involve a massive restructuring of social and political thoughts and systems, and some would require advanced technology. And I am confident that this is only a superficial analysis of potential requirements, but what is more important for purposes of this written thought is that these requirements and demands must be feasible for whatever combination of choices are deemed, (in a particular moment), important for the future well-being of Humanity.

A Lifetime is a moment; and a moment is a Lifetime. Neither a moment or a Lifetime though, is enough. Import and consequence must be measured over generations and centuries and millennia. To have advanced from ceremonial dogma to meaningful purpose is progress. To advance from meaningful purpose to skeptical reasoning is a process that has barely begun. To advance from skeptical reasoning to all-inclusive global well-being is what really matters. Unfortunately, all-inclusive global well-being will require multiple intermediate gradations; some very possibly painful. And here we are, stuck on meaningful purpose.

To get unstuck we must again recognize the import and consequence of faith and ignorance.

For as long as we remain organic and sentient beings, we must recognize the import and consequence of faith and ignorance.

To address what really matters, we must recognize the import and consequence of faith and ignorance.

No matter the specifics, faith and ignorance are the basis of spirituality.

We must get right with our God.

To less powerful organic and sentient beings, we are God.

To far-flung future generations, we are God.

We must get right with our Selves.

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Happiness Used Up?

My years do not qualify me yet as an antique. The adjectives "old" and "obsolete" may sway some to classify me as vintage, but its accompanying connotation of "exceptionally fine" would immediately disqualify that as a descriptor. This same reasoning will also eliminate choice, classic, mature, prime, select, and venerable. And I don't care for worn, haggard, shabby, ragged, stale, weary, or wrung out. So I believe that leaves "used" as the most fitting characterization.

While I accept this rendering, I do have some thoughts and questions.

Is "used" merely a way station between "contemporary" and "used up?" If so, when did I cross the line?  Or have I crossed the line? Is the fluidity of this quandary actual or delusional? If I have crossed the line, am I actually able to cross back? Or is that wishful thinking, and I am actually looking downhill into the Valley of Used Up? Looking over it, it is a pleasant valley; green and lush; inviting; restful. If I am gazing into the quiescence of Used Up, which will come first: Death or the Valley? Or are they one and the same? Have you crossed the line separating contemporary from used? Some days I believe I have crossed that line. Some days, (perhaps many days; maybe every day), I am across that line but refuse to consciously acknowledge that I have crossed that line. I know this on occasion because in one moment I am feeling up-to-date and vital, and then in the next moment, (often in front of a mirror), I take a good look and ask, where am I and how the hell did I get here? And who is that worn, haggard, shabby, ragged, stale, weary, wrung out phiz staring back at me?

I still prefer "used."

I hate to look ahead, and I hate to imagine the possibility that I am so out of touch with reality that I have also, (unbeknownst to me), crossed over into Used Up; but if you believe that you have crossed that line from Used to Used Up, and if you are in the same existential plane as I am, perhaps a conversation would be mutually beneficial. Perhaps I could help you cross back to Used or you could help me to see reality. I do not want to hear from anyone who simply wants to convince me I am Used Up; this includes not only those bureaucrats and bootlickers who make and enforce the rules---those tycoons and tyrants who believe themselves invincible---those phonies and frauds who pretend to be contemporary and in control---those windbags and whippersnappers who can say and do no wrong, but also the in-laws.

I just said "whippersnappers." Perhaps that valley is closer than I thought.

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Happiness, roasted

Poor little guy
Husk hanging by a thread
Crisped by and by
Roasted, salted, dead

I split and shelled
Pistachio unbound
Nut grasped and held
Half-shell caught dangling down

Silk strand attached
Connecting catacomb
Brave worm dispatched
Poly to Monochrome

He'd found a home
Burrowed to the meat
No more to roam
Pistachi-ated treat

Though cooked not raw
This nestled worm inside
I latched my jaw
My gut still mortified

Poor little guy
Husk hanging by a thread
Crisped by and by
Roasted, salted, dead

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