Pleasantries of Vagueness

Happiness is a trivial concept. Being a concept in itself , it is a desperate attempt to compartmentalize, to represent a fog of inexplicable yet thoroughly overpowering phenomena, manifesting itself in our reality as coordinated muscle movements of a smile, the repetitive vibrations of a hearty laugh, a sweeping euphoria from the rush of endorphins, and transcendence beyond the ever ubiquitous sadness and hopelessness of our human condition.

I ask then, what is happiness? One could be perfectly happy, both in the polar ends of subsisting on human contact, or in solitude (this I do not discount as a product of contentment over prolonged periods of isolation, although happiness and contentment might be two different things). What does make one happy? Is it understanding? Satisfaction? Or perhaps resignation of the fleeting nature of feelings, and the acceptance of the meager substance of our humanity? I daresay one cannot be perfectly happy without letting go of higher faculties. One will forever be overwrought with the complexities of reason if one persists to hold on to seeking happiness and grounded existence.

I seek happiness that stems beyond earthly connections. Of this I concede much of how I have known on one ought to live should forever be obliterated, forgotten, or forged with principles uncharacteristic of normalcy. We all exist in the isolation of our own minds, of our thoughts, of our own understanding. Everybody thinks, and would like to believe that by virtue of similar constitution, other beings understand, yet at the back of our minds we know that nobody can ever really grasp realities as we know of them. One must find happiness in the isolation of his own self. Then perhaps only then could he truly fulfill his tendency of seeking a semblance of the same in others.

And this is the first post on what Aubrey really thinks of.