“If you are wondering whether you’ll have to stand vigilant with pencil and paper until the end of your days – you wont. Writing things down is only a way to get started, like training wheels on a bike. The mastery over our dark thoughts and feelings quickly becomes a habit. As the grey cells are reprogrammed, the left front lobe is trained to master negative emotions a tenth of a second after they first appear. As this ability grows, the bitter feelings disappear.”
Stefan Klein, The Science of Happiness
Yet where is this mastery that is spoken of? Where are the pillars of compressed and reprogrammed emotions? Where is the knife with which to slice open the package in all its glorious wonder?
If only there was no vastness to my decisions. If only I could hold on to the things that I thought, I would not lose the race. Because thats where I am – at the back of the pack waiting for the whack of a needle to sedate me, to pull me under and over and through the gesticulating armour that I have built around me.
What other choice is there? If you want only to drink from a victory cup, then there is no point in making your way to the end of the race – it will be warm by the time you reach there. What else is there to choose from? Options are all well and good, but what if you must ruin all those things that are good and grand within your sphere of knowing in order to attain a greater good? Do you choose or do you fly? Do you run, or do you crawl towards it, waiting whilst rocks are thrown upon you from above, whilst your companions, those to whom you trust, fear, love and are beholden to move past you, run towards the finish line without you – leave you behind without stopping to hold
your heart –
there is a vastness to my decisions. I make them not with ease. I hold out that vague, flimsy whisper of hope that all wil be good, all will be right, all will cradle my sadness within its tight embrace throughout the night, but the secret is only that – a secret, to be told and passed on, for that is the nature of the beast. That, is the science of the dank hole that lay within the path – its ther,e waiting for you to step inside it. Waiting for you to fall beneath it.
Waiting, for you to falter.
Is there mastery over the chemical ablutions that your brain puts forth in those moments? Is there mastery over the essentials of life? Where are the signposts, where are the wakening soliders to protect and server and fight on your behalf? Are we merely an army of one, resolutly hading towards the front, the weapon of our choice our capacity to make those decisions – a frail, withered piece of weaponry indeed?
I need to know why they run past, without holding out that hand. I need to know, why when the hand is held out, that I do not grab hold of it and keep it and not scold it. Why i push it away and fear it and fear the way in which people look and see me and take me and believe me and …
If my life were digital, I would archive it, format it, restore those pieces that are now missing and yet which somehow are broken and stalked for in more lucid moments. I would lock it behind passwords with multinumerical characters, with digits and alphabetical contrivances so damn fucking unbrekable that it would take a million qubits five thousand years to un-entagle them from their crpyt. I would cast so much aside, compress thme down and hide whereever I was able to, if anything but to make the decisions that loom across the horizon like a fleet of zepplins with hoisted machine guns bearing down upon my army of one.
Why do they run towards the finsih line? The race is over. I am here, fallen into the mote that held only my bitter eye that ocec peered upon the god of hope.
Will you not wait, for the mastery to become habit? Or will you let these words become only what they are, and nothing more – a beginning, and never an end?
“We all discover our own answers. We are six billion people, and there are six billion paths to happiness…”