When you’re free-falling, you have total freedom in a myriad of ways—but none of it is seen because you are free-falling. All the little freedoms seem useless.
It’s all a matter of perspective though. Death is at the end of every human life, but it doesn’t affect the freedom we have to shape our lives. Why should the microcosms of life and death within our time on earth be any different?
Lately I’ve been seeing a lot of posts about thoughts. More specifically, I’ve been seeing posts about how one can never escape their thoughts.
Thoughts are powerful things. They can build, inspire, encourage…
They can also break you.
Thoughts, at their very core, originate from you. You are their Creator and Sustainer. And if able enough, their Destroyer.
Thoughts (just like everything else in this universe), once created, aren’t so easily destroyed (at least, Idon’t find them easy to destroy). But they are always mutable. At your hands against any inescapable, hurtful thoughts are the tools of the mind and the powers of the heart. Imagination, logic, faith, courage, love—if you can find it within yourself, then it is within your grasp.
“Night is purer than day; it is better for thinking, loving, and dreaming. At night everything is more intense, more true. The echo of words that have been spoken during the day takes on a new and deeper meaning. The tragedy of man is that he doesn’t know how to distinguish between day and night.”—Dawn, Elie Wiesel (via spetharrific)
Loosely translated, “namaste” means “the spirit in me recognizes spirit in you.” It is, beyond its use as a greeting, an acknowledgement of oneness. It says, “I see you for all you are beneath the flesh, and I welcome your presence.” It isn’t necessary to start greeting all of our peers with “namaste,” but maybe we could all use a little more of this attitude in our lives.
“Isn’t it strange that evolution would give us a sense of humor? When you think about it, it’s weird that we have a physiological response to absurdity. We laugh at nonsense. We like it. We think it’s funny. Don’t you think it’s odd that we appreciate absurdity? Why would we develop that way? How does it benefit us?” “I suppose if we couldn’t laugh at the things that don’t make sense, we couldn’t react to a lot of life.”—Bill Watterson (via troubled)
“Renovate your life, the old myths say, and the universe is yours. I stumbled from the dark woods of my own, and my family’s, and my country’s past, holding in my hands these truths: that love grows from the rich loam of forgiveness; that mongrels make good dogs, that the evidence of God exists in the roundness of things.
This much, at least, I’ve figured out. I know this much is true.”—Wally Lamb — I Know This Much is True (via wordsareendless)
To misquote Carl Sagan, there are billions and billions of stars out there. Looking up at the sky, we can see them painted across our sky, millions of visible pinpoints of light that show us an infinitesimal piece of the universe’s beauty and fill us with awe.
Each star itself is something beautiful, each with its own story. Each shines out with its own light, some steadily, some barely, some blowing themselves up. Some we can’t see, because they’ve become monstrous gravity wells that tests the physical laws of our universe. Some create beams so intense they can kill even here on earth.
Despite there being so many, we consider each one uniquely beautiful and poignant.
There are billions of stars, and billions of people. Why should we believe the uniqueness and beauty of each person to be any different than that we hold for the stars?
Ray Bradbury wrote a little book called Something Wicked This Way Comes.T. H. White wrote a slightly larger book called The Once and Future King.
While involving themselves in totally different plots, histories, and worlds, they actually blend together quite well (well, parts of them, anyways).
A major point that Bradbury makes is that being righteous and good does not necessarily lead to happiness. On the contrary: it is those who do the most evil that receive the most satisfaction from this world. They siphon away joy and life from everything. The good shine out, trying to give love, life, and joy to the universe around themselves—even at the expense of themselves. Evil will not make that sacrifice; there is no satisfaction. Because of this, the life of a good man is often sad and painful.
White’s King Arthur brings up a very valid point: satisfaction is not happiness. As he puts it (more or less, I’m paraphrasing), evil men are never happy or joyous. Victorious? Yes. Happy? No. King Arthur makes this observation as Camelot crumbles around him; he’s reminiscing, seeing if there are any regrets.
Letting the echoes of these two excellent authors resonate within ourselves, one conclusion becomes evident according to them: evil is not a path to happiness. It can substitute, but never truly quench the thirst for happiness.
Is good and righteousness a path to ultimate happiness? I don’t know.
I do know that, while King Arthur has never met a truly evil man that attained happiness, I have seen (and I believe met) a few good people that have.