The belief that there is no permanent happiness is so widespread and deeply rooted that it's simply one of the hard facts of life for most people. Should some holy foreign visitor claim, or even appear to claim otherwise, he or she is either not believed or is thought to be a fake or a phenomenon. And why not? Who has experienced even one day of "perfect peace"? A whole life of it seems preposterous.
We've heard it said that individuals in their right mind would not want consistent happiness. Which raises an interesting question. Is it possible not to want what by definition one wants?
The Merriam-Webster unabridged has this to say about the durability of happiness: "A state of well-being characterized by relative permanence ... and by a natural desire for its continuation." The Oxford English definition includes this indication of where happiness occurs: "The state of pleasurable content of mind...."
Dictionaries merely report how a word is commonly used, and true to general usage. All the ones we've looked at cite good luck, prosperity, and other forms of worldly success as the principle origins of happiness. This is not only how the word is used but also the general belief in how this "content of mind" comes and goes. It is a "beautiful feeling" which we want to endure but is dependent on how outward events go. "Oh, what a beautiful morning. Oh, what a beautiful day ... Everything's going my way."
But for how long do things go our way? We want a better wardrobe. But for how long will it be better? We want a better salary. But for how long will it be better? And so it is with couch, car, or complexion. Nothing remains the best; nothing remains even better-whether lover, lawn, or laptop. Is it any wonder, then, that we don't believe in lasting happiness, even though we have "a natural desire for its continuation"? The way we have happiness set up in our minds, it's a decidedly unhappy subject. For the sake of our own happiness, we had best forget it altogether as a rational goal. That is, unless we can find another source besides "everything's going my way."
Is it possible to say, "Nothing has to go right today," and still be happy? In fact, it's the only way.
Because nothing will go right. As I'm sure you've noticed by now. It started again this morning. A little something spills, certain people are late as usual, our hair is never quite right, and then there's the neighbor's dog. Forget hate and greed-is there any real hope of eliminating all annoying noises, smells, poor workmanship, overpriced products, traffic gridlock, and rudeness in stores? Then why get so caught up in the very nature of the day that simple enjoyment becomes impossible? As the song says, "You can't roller-skate in a buffalo herd, but you can be happy if you've a mind to." The key is "having a mind to."
There is a mental state that passes gently and easily over the endless nonsense that litters the day. Like a soft breeze, it refreshes everything but disturbs nothing. It is happy just being itself. And being something, it has something to give. Its opposite is the mental state that is constantly getting entangled and pulled down by almost everything. Unhappiness is unfocused, agitated, and above all, scared. Having no integrity, no calm inner direction, it takes its cue from whatever problem is perceived to be before it now.
The mind can be trained, yet in most instances our thoughts are so chaotic and vulnerable that we go through the day looking at everyone through a thick mental haze that blocks from view what each person is at heart. Yet it is seeing the urges of the heart that makes us happy. Babies and very young children, for example, make us happy because we allow ourselves to see their basic innocence. In their case we are quick to see because we are slow to judge.
Although it is by no means inevitable, the ordinary efforts made during the passing of years can occasionally bring about a small measure of the mental wholeness needed to permit a more spiritual vision. That is why older parents, and especially grandparents, often enjoy children more than "the young and the restless." By the time we reach middle age, we have sometimes learned enough to devote ourselves to our children and not just squeeze them in among a bewildering array of conflicting pursuits.
Children, like everything else of value, cannot be hurried. The pleasure that a baby or young child has to offer is as delicate and subtle as a sunrise. Sitting quietly in the hush of dawn, with nothing to do and nowhere to go, we hear the waking sounds of the earth and see the shifts in light and shadow that a more hurried mind will miss. Haste makes unhappiness. The happiness with us is very still. It is not physically slow; it is merely at peace. |
